Sakura Sweet Chapter 4: Abacus Shumabacus.

He didn’t like where he was going. Not at all. The forest, the leaves, the sticks that crunched underneath his feet as he followed in the footsteps of the elf man dude. What was his name again? Elf man dude? Legolas? Maybe Johnathan should call him that from now on. Legolas. Oh hey, there, Legolas. Didn’t see you there. How’s it been going since you lost touch with your dwarf boyfriend Gimli? Did you guys have a fight or something?

Of course he wasn’t actually going to say that. Unless elves could read minds.

Which we can.

The voice broke into his head like a sudden deluge of hot chocolate poured over ice cream where the ice cream melted instantly and turned to ashes in his mouth. Oh. So is it true that you broke up with him?

The elf said nothing.

You’re not denying it?

The elf said nothing.

Johnathan rubbed his hands together, or at least, tried to do the best he could all bound by the hands and knees like he was, trailing behind the elf man dude with long hair attached to a rope that the elf man dude was dragging—maybe Johnathan really should call him Legolas—and soon he would be bound by the mouth as well, if he kept up his internal dialog like this. Shit. This was complicated. How was he communicating with the elf man dude?

“You’re not.”

Ah. Johnathan relaxed.

Then he realized what had happened. “Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

“Oh. Very nice words to describe what you’re feeling. Do explain.”

“I thought I was your captive.”

“You are. But I’m bored. What do you want to do with your free time before you get tossed into a dungeon for trespassing on Kireut land?”

Johnathan shrugged. “Anything, really. Wanna play shiritori?”

“Don’t know what that game is. Do explain it.”

“It’s Japanese where we—“

The elf tugged on Johnathan’s leash. “I hate Japanese. Don’t mention it in front of the king lest you die, your head chopped off and fed to the immortals.”

“The immortals?” Johnathan asked.

“Yeah,” said the elf man dude. “The immortals.” He paused. “What do you want me to explain about them?” he asked. “I mean, you’re probably going to end up there anyways whether or not I explain it to you. So I might as well explain how you’re going to die.”

Johnathan swallowed. “I,” he said. “I,” he paused. “I don’t know.”  He tried to scratch his nose but failed miserably. “What do you want to know about me? I have lots of things to talk about.” He sensed that the elf man dude was tensing up against him. His mental barrage was becoming more fragmented. Who was really behind that iron mental wall? Nobody? A real sentient being? Or were they all projections of Johnathan’s delusional mind?

He didn’t care. At least he could think straight now. All he wanted to do was to go home and watch his teakettle boil. Did that sound familiar? It must have.

Oh, right. The Hobbit. Or, otherwise known as, “There and Back Again.”

Was this that world? Did the one ring really exist here? Whose fault was it that it was created? Who built it—did Sauron really manage to create it by himself? Who was Sauron? Was he really the bad guy? Who was the bad guy? Did Sauron have any real reason to fight his enemies? What did Sauron want? What about Saruman? Did someone go and tell Saruman to do all the things he did? Where was Gandalf the Grey? Who was he? What happened to him? Where was he now? Was he still alive? As Gandalf the Grey, the White, the Purple? That sounded cool. Gandalf the Purple. Purple was a good color. A nice one. A good one for the ages. This is how he wanted it done—like this. Gandalf was real, wasn’t here?

The elf man dude looked uncomfortable. Had he been reading Johnathan’s mind? Who was he? Where did he come from? Too many questions! They were all pouring out at once. Then a voice popped into Johnathan’s mind.

He really is Legolas, you know.