The Writer's Pocket

    Gabriel walked the streets of the town of Kelpish. A hard breeze slashed at him from behind. Shivering from the cruel cold of the night, he shrugged his shoulders and pulled his jacket up to cover his neck. Shivering again, he went back to his thoughts and trudged on through the cold.

    Gabriel was a writer. He wrote stories of all sorts. His stories were sold all over the US, all starting in his small town of Kelpish. He was a short man, balding, old and yet adolescent. He walked hunched forward slightly and it wasn’t because of the cold; he found he could think better when he wasn’t concentrating on standing up straight. He was constantly wearing a long jacket that, because he was always hunched forward, somewhat dragged on the ground. It was a faded brown, old, torn in places, and smelled like tobacco from when his Grandfather used to wear it while smoking a pipe and sitting in an old rocking chair. Gabriel always wore this coat because it always reminded him of when his Grandfather used to tell stories to Gabriel while sitting in that old rocking chair. Thinking about those old stories helped him come up with new ones. Not to mention, his coat was reversible. Gabriel just loved reversible things, whether it was a coat, shirt, bedspread, or bag.

    The old coat had large pockets covering nearly every inch of its front. Gabriel counted the number of pockets once, but couldn’t remember the exact amount. It was something like twenty-four. Or, perhaps, it was thirty-four. Gabriel couldn’t recall. But in each and every one of the pockets was a story on a piece of paper. Sometimes it was just an idea for a story, sometimes it was the entire story, and sometimes there was more than one story. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that no pocket was ever empty.

    There is something else that was odd about the coat, though. Gabriel noticed it from the moment he put it on. Gabriel had already tried to figure out the coat’s secrets. So had Gabriel’s grandfather and his grandfather and every other one of its owners in the past, with each giving up in the end. Each finally had to admit that the coat would not give up its secret. Still, the owners of the coat, and Gabriel especially, reveled in what it brought. For whenever someone tried to empty the contents of the pockets, the very next time the pockets were checked, a story was in each one.

    The coat had its purposes. Some of those who knew of the pocket stories, like Gabriel’s great-great-great-grandfather, used the story ideas and sold them to the great authors of the world: Shakespeare, Marlow, Middleton, etc. Others, like Gabriel’s grandfather, used it for non-profit purposes, such as telling stories to their families. Gabriel himself used the stories to sell as his own. So, as practically anyone could see, the coat was something marvelous.

    But, there was something evil about the coat as well. For every time someone put on the coat and read its stories, that person had no choice, but to keep the coat. The thought of everything the coat could bring was overwhelming.

    And, so Gabriel walked through the cold, merciless wind down the thin road leading to his mansion at the end of town. Even from where he was, Gabriel could see the fading paint on his fence and the cracked and fallen tile from his roof. He needed those fixed. In order to have those fixed, he needed money, which meant he needed to write another story. As he pondered this, his thoughts strayed from the thought of the dreadful cold to what he should write for his next story. He thought harder. He didn’t like being so dishonest. Often times, he would try to come up with stories on his own. It was what he had graduated from college for. So far, the number of his own stories that he had sold was a great total of zero. Whenever he tried to come up with something, the temptation of the easy life bit at him.

    These were one of those times. The nagging feeling in the pit of his heart pushed him far enough. Gabriel reached into a random pocket of the coat and pulled out a scrap of paper. Shivering, he pulled the coat back up around his neck and read:

    The man trudged through the mud of the long, winding road to his home. He trembled as he thought of everything he had dealt with in the past few days. Dwelling on thoughts of the warm safety of his home, the man found himself at the front gate of his mansion. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his mind before entering. He didn’t like having any negative energy within his peaceful home. He walked in the gate and strode towards his front door. He pulled out his key, unlocked the door, and swung it open. One foot hit the floor and something glinted beside him. He whipped his head around to see a crazy eyed man, the one he had seen following him twice before, charge. The man cried out when another glint flashed… The man fell, clutching his fatal wound.

    Gabriel couldn’t help thinking that the story seemed familiar. Shaking his head, he pushed the door open and walked into the living room. He began to take his coat off, but, remembering the story, decided he should keep it on. He needed all the help he could get if he was going to write a story this late. He pulled his desk chair out and plopped down onto the seat. He rubbed his face with his hands and, pulling out his laptop, sighed. He began to type and didn’t stop till the morning.

    By the time sun’s rays began to shine through the window, Gabriel was asleep atop his computer. The keys of the computer continued to type out a story around the pocket idea. The last key finally clicked and the story was finished. Gabriel woke up. He looked at his computer to find a finished story. He smiled. Another finished story. He found that this often happened. He would get ready to type, fall asleep at his desk, and awake to find the story completely finished for him. He liked to think that he “sleep-typed”. The more it happened, the more he thought that it would probably be easier if he would just fall asleep in the first place. He would certainly get more rest.

    He glanced up at his clock on the wall. 11:01. The chair groaned as Gabriel lifted himself up. He printed out the story, took the coat off the back of his chair, and put it around him. He began the long journey to his publisher’s home. Gabriel never liked using email. He didn’t even have one. Not to mention, he got a lot more exercise by walking.

    Later, after his publisher had read the story and paid Gabriel for it, Gabriel got some lunch and hired a man to fix his roof shingles and fence. It was nearly seven-o-clock by the time he got home. As he walked into his newly fixed gate, he felt his eyelids droop and his body began to hang and become heavy. He pushed the door open and began to take off his coat. A twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach made him grimace in pain. He absently pulled out another pocket idea. He brought it up to his face and read:

    The poisoned ring kept drawing the eye of the man. It doesn’t look poisoned, he thought. He reached out and snatched the ring from its perch in the little box. He didn’t feel any pain. It seemed like any other ring. Placing it on his finger, he admired the ruby red color glinting back at him. How lovely, he turned his hand this way and that, picturing himself waving his hand about while talking to the other villagers. He could only picture how jealous they would be.

    Suddenly, he heard a noise. The owner of the ring was coming back. He quickly tore the ring off his finger and kissed it good-bye. He placed it back in the box, but couldn’t find the strength to take his hand off it. The owner came into view and saw the man touching the ring. “No!” The owner cried. Quickly, the man released the ring and turned to run. The moment he took one step, he collapsed as the deadly poison found its way to the man’s heart. The owner looked at the man and shook his head. Turning towards the ring box, he closed the lid.

    Gabriel froze, rereading the story. He couldn’t help but to notice how, for the past month, the coat has made no stories other than ones ending in death. Then, he realized another connection. Most of the stories had a man who gave something up. What does it mean? That was the one part Gabriel couldn’t figure out. He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes with his hand. Deciding that he was simply tired, he shrugged the coat off completely, ignoring the jerking in his stomach, and went to bed. He dreamed of his grandfather. In the dream, his grandfather stood on the bank of a large stream. Gabriel stood on the opposite bank. His grandfather kept trying to shout things to Gabriel, but wasn’t loud enough for him to hear. Gabriel kept shouting back, “What? I can’t hear you!” Finally, he looked down at the stream.

    The water looked calm. Gabriel took a step. His grandfather began to jump up and down, waving his hands in the air. Gabriel still couldn’t hear anything, but he could see the word ‘No’ forming over and over again on his grandfather’s lips. Gabriel didn’t think it would be a big deal; the water looked so calm. He took another step, and another, and another. His grandfather was frantic now. Gabriel took another step and, all of a sudden, the water of the stream began to churn and rush down its path. It became faster and faster, until Gabriel slipped and fell into the water. As he was washed down the stream, he felt himself being pulled under the water. I can’t breathe! Gabriel began to thrash about, trying to get above water for a gulp of air. Then, the water around started to change. It turned brown and felt more like old cloth than water. The faint smell of tobacco came upon Gabriel. The “water” wrapped itself around Gabriel’s body and tightened, until Gabriel gasped and water filled his lungs.

    Then, Gabriel sat straight up in bed, chocking and gasping and holding his throat. He whipped off the blanket and grabbed his coat, throwing it around his shoulders. I guess I better sleep with this on, he thought. He stayed awake for a few minutes, trying to get his breathing under control. Afterwards, he went back to bed and slept without any dream at all.

    When Gabriel awoke for the second time, it was four in the morning. He rolled over in his bed and saw a piece of paper on the floor that had fallen out of one of the coat pockets. He didn’t feel like reading another one of the dreadful pocket stories, so he tossed it away and began to leave the room. A sudden jerk yanked Gabriel away from the door and back into the room. “What the heck?” He exclaimed out loud. He tried to walk out again, but felt the same jerking sensation.

    After a few more tries meeting the same end, he gave up and went back for the paper. He kept it in his hand, but didn’t read it. He went out into the kitchen and made breakfast. He tried setting the paper down again, but, because of the continuous jerking feeling, ended up keeping it in his hand while he ate. Sighing out of frustration, Gabriel put the paper in his pocket. He made up his mind. I won’t read it!

    Yet, the moment he made that decision, a faint pain in his chest formed, like the tip of a pin piercing into his skin. Not again… He had felt this pain before. He had tried to fight the coat’s power once before only to end up in the hospital, with all the doctors claiming he had had a heart attack. He forced the pain back. The pain grew. He tried again. It grew again. “No!” he yelled, “I will not surrender!” He leapt up and tore the coat of his body and onto the floor. He ransacked the kitchen, desperately, until he found his last match. He lit it and threw it onto the coat. Immediately, the coat was in flames.

    Gabriel gasped in horror. He tried to grab the coat before the fire could spread to his house, but it was too late. First the floor, then the table, then the counters, and, within twenty seconds, his entire kitchen was blazing. Gabriel cried out and ran from the kitchen. The flames spread. He tried to grab his books, but only grabbed one by the time the orange and red and yellow swallowed them. The blaze shot at Gabriel and he dropped the book in terrified surprise. Turning, he ran to his desk to save his computer and stories, only to find that the fire had consumed that as well. He turned all around and every direction he faced, flames stood up and bared their chests, daring him to challenge them. The flames charged at him.

    With a sudden adrenaline rush, he screamed and ran right through the flames and crashed out of the burnt wood door. He kept running and screaming until he reached the forest to the right of his house. Once he was far enough into the wood, he stopped, panting. He saw a log a little ways ahead of him and dragged himself forward until he reached it. He sat down. He looked around.

    “Now what am I to do?” Gabriel asked to the night. There was no answer. His stomach twisted and a cold wind brushed up against him. He reached to pull his coat up around his ears only to find that his coat was no longer there. I burned it, he realized with a sickening feeling. Feeling tired and out of breath, Gabriel put his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and, suddenly, he remembered the paper he had put in his pants pocket. A suspicion slowly crept into his mind as he opened the paper. It read:

    The man’s world seemed to be crashing down around him as the flames of his house built higher and higher. The man tried to save his precious books, his computer, and his memories, only to be pushed out of the house by the evil roaring fire. He ran to escape the bright orange and red that had enclosed around his life, desperate to save himself. He made it to the forest and sat down, wondering what he would do now that everything he had and everything he was was gone. Darkness crept around him, slowly sinking into the man until, alas, the man was no more…

    As Gabriel read, his head started spinning. He shook his head to stop it, but it only became worse. “It… Can’t… Be,” he gasped one word at a time, unable to make a full sentence. He looked up at everything around him, hoping to find something that could comfort him, to see that there was nothing. Nothing around him at all. It was all blank, like a slate with his life’s writing on it that was suddenly erased. He struggled for breath and clasped his heart. Everything went black.