Dear whoever the hell is reading this, you know how you have that time in your life or those moments where you really hate your parents? Yeah, that’s what have. I got this- this- this fucking bag it’s magic mama says but baba doesn’t believe in magic so I’m not sure what to do or who to believe. She’s said not to put anything inside but that the things I need are already there. That- “in time you’ll receive what’s required” at least in mamas words. All that’s come out is a magic eight ball. I think it rolled out in the middle of the night. These things don’t do shit ever.

“I’m so sorry!!”

You twist as your satchels collide and all the supplies you carefully packed spill all over the tiled floor. You scramble to pick up your belongings, continuing your appologies, while the other student snatches up his own.

“Watch it!” He spits, hoisting his own satchel further up on his shoulder. You can’t blame him, everyone’s nerves are on edge for The Accepting. In fact, your head had been so burried in your notes that you hadn’t realized you have made it to the waiting room until your collision.

The underground hall is lit with torches in roughly carved alcoves where students like you were cramming to save their life. An interesting idiom, only it wasn’t an idiom in this case.

“Adlai, Mace?” Echoes throughout the hall. A boy who can’t possibly be old enough for The Accepting stumbles to his feet. He hasn’t even reached the examiner before he is retching on the floor. The examiner only gives him a haughty look before stalking off. The boy follows, stomach still heaving.

You settle into one of the many couches scattered about and breath out a shaky breath. You’ve got this. You’ve only been training for it for your entire life.

In recent efforts to conserve life on Earth, the government started The Accepting to send those they deemed fit to Mars to stop the rapidly declining ozone layer from disappearing completely. At sixteen, you were either shipped off or remained behind. While the system had worked for a while, the polution on Earth continued to worsen. Mars was nearing capacity, and more than a few had started to panic about the dire state of humanity.

So, starting this year, those who failed The Accepting would be used as test pilots and shipped off to planets scientists believed could support new life. The common consensus said that even if you made it, you would likely die after you breathed in toxic air, or were mauled by an otherworldly beast, or ingested the wrong plant.

In short: don’t fail.

Growing up, your parents had told you everything they knew about the exam. A panel of three examiners will judge what you deem the most nessecary items for survival on a foreign celestial body.

“You can’t leave us. You won’t leave us,” they told you. “You have to come back to us” your mother said, tears in her eyes. “or else…”

You can still hear her sobs reverberating in your skull.

Focus.

You repeat your father’s mantras. Bring a firestarter, enough food to last a week, and enough water to last you twice as long. Never bring something as trivial as a sentimental token. Always make sure you can justify your choices.

You’d brought the best items you could, memorized to a tee what you would say. It was now, or never.

The examiner calls your name. You stand and carefully smooth your pants into place before following the examiner deep into the earth.

A panel of three extremely bored examiners face you. After a moment the one furthest to the right speaks up.

“Welcome to The Accepting. The results of this exam will determine whether you will continue to remain on Earth, or are sent to another celestial body. Do you understand the consequences?”

“Yes,” you nod confidently. She writes something on a tablet before glancing back up.

“Well? We don’t have all day.”

You reach your hand into your, searching to the familiar smooth hilt of your father’s largest hunting knife.

“To begin, I have-“

You pull out a wooden spork.

“You have?” The middle examiner prompts, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he takes in your shock.

“I’m sorry,” you appologize. “This isn’t what I meant to bring.”

“The satchels you were given are programmed to give you any item it wishes to,” says the furthest left examiner explains in a monotone voice. “Unlike other years, you will be judged on your resourcefulness rather than your common sense.”

“What should be common sense,” the judge on the right mumbles.

“Oh!” You fumble for words as they float into space. You can invision yourself following them, out into the unknown.

Snap out of it, you tell yourself.

“Well a spork is clearly an indispensible tool for survival.” Your cocky tone catches the examiners, and yourself, by surprise. You straighten your posture and try to embody confidence.

“A spork can obviously be used to eat. But it can also be used in a touniquet to stop blood loss. A spork,” you say, starting to pace as you think, “could be useful in harvesting possibly poisonous materials. The long hilt provides leverage, and can allow one to see how foreign material may respond to Earthen materials.”

The examiners all scribble furiously as you set down the spork on the table beside you and draw out your next item.

“A propeller hat, obviously, could point out wind direction, something instrumental in energy farming. Because of its brim, it would also protect one’s face from hazardous winds.”

“Impressive,” says the formerly arrogant examiner.

The rest of the exam flys by in a blur. A cake complete with candles, a miniature toy excavator, and a robot vacuum cleaner, you explain them all. Thanking the examiners on your way out, you can’t help but think that it went well. You have escaped being launched off to who knows where, and you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

That is, until three days later when you recieve a note.

Due to your exemplarly resourcefulness, you are one of few selected to save the future of humanity! You will be departing for planet C48-3B in seven days. Thank you for your service! __ __ And your stomach drops.__ __

A gun. This bad was going to be right up my alley. Perfect for me, both useful and fun. A small bottle filled with purple liquid. I had learned a long time ago to never drink an unknown substance. I still wince at the memories. A flower. I have no idea how that would be useful. A spool of thread. I guess I could use it. You never know. A bandanna. At first I though it was useless. And then I saw the symbol embroidered onto the corner.

One delightful day, under a light blue sky with fluffy clouds that seemed to frolic among themselves, I went out to an old beech tree and placed my magic satchel down by the roots. It looked like a bag made from an oriental carpet. I opened its wide mouth and pulled out a fawn colored angora rabbit. Very cute. Tuffs of hair dangled from his upright ears. I gave him a hug, then I plopped him down on the grass.

I didn’t know in advance that’s what I’d pull out. I never do. I learned to go with the flow. I imposed my will upon the magic and it imposed its will upon me. That’s how we had an adventure without falling back into the mundane.

Next, I pulled out a shrinking potion. That’s what it said it was in big words right on the label. Hmm. Then, I plucked out a portable pocket portal, a modified carpenter’s belt, and a book of Handy Spells. I put the potion and the portal in the belt before I looped it around my waist.

As I suspected, the cute little fluffy rabbit had started to dig a hole as I was pulling out items from the bag. “Right,” I confirmed with him. “We are going to Wonderland.” After I said the words I opened the book of spells. It turned right to the page I needed. I read aloud:

Whatever you’re digging, The zagging, the zigging, You finish your deed _With incredible speed _ __ __ The book had a blank spot with an underline where I put in “whatever you’re digging, the zagging, the zigging.” It made my heart rate speed up to have to make up part of the spell. Spells could go wildly awry. That’s why I liked to use other kinds of magic props if I could. I closed the spell book and put it in a pouch that was attached to my belt. When I looked over at the long-haired rabbit, he was already gone down into the burrow he’d just dug. “That’s that, then.” I opened the bottle of shrink-me and took a gulp. It shrunk me down small as the rabbit. With a little whistle I set off for my own adventure and leaped down the rabbit hole.

Young Victoria stood limply in the center of the onyx road, a huge bloody fissure pooling on her flushed knees.

It wasn’t anything unusual, though, not for her. Her body already began to crack years before she could even lift her wand.

_Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. _

Two chasms, charcoal black, ran jaggedly through her forearms until they reached her neck. Lightning Veins: a condition that made her hungry and ravenous, inhibited her, and increased her ambitions and appetite for blood. She preferred rabbits, mostly, but her own blood tasted better when she was starving.

Today she was insatiable.

Hunger struck her down and her knees gave out. The cobblestone scratched against her as her lightless satchel jostled beneath her.

Where was her knife?

She ransacked her bag, until she felt the tip of her knife prick her index. She barely felt a tingle as she clutched the blade—blood and pain had become her friend many years ago.

With a wolfish snarl, she nicked the palm of her hand and sucked until she could feel a warmth return to her face. The sweet tangy aftertaste placed a smile on the macabre girl’s face.

She needed more.

A set of pearl earrings came out first. Clearly used, perhaps long ago. The gold had blotted; the pearls lost their shine. They still had potential, though. A good wipe could bring them back into shape.

Then, a photograph. It was of me, and my husband Daniel, in black and white, standing on the U.S.S. Texas in 1946. He'd come back from the war a year earlier. Daniel was afraid of flying again but could stomach a ship. We looked so happy then.

Next was a silk white dress. It was the one I wore when we first met. The years showed up in small stains and a tear at the hem. It would do more justice on a younger, leaner woman by now.

Then she pulled out a pillow. That was strange. Why should I care about a pillow? There was something familiar about it, but I couldn't reach it in the back of my mind.

Finally, she produced a newspaper, or rather, a clipping. Daniel's obituary. March 19, 1985. Gone like that. Would I cry again? Wasn't 20 years of pain enough?

"Why are you showing me these things," I asked her.

She spoke no words, but instead backed into the flames. As the curtains burned I felt the heat against my chair. It was all about to be over, and there we were, just thinking it was all about to start. Who knew we were at intermission?

John found a letter next to the bag. Both were on his desk next to the morning coffee. His business partner, Mike, normally left him a coffee, but John had not seen him this morning. He took a sip of the coffee. It was his usual, so maybe he just missed Mike.

The bag was a medium sized drawstring bag made of well worn leather. John could imagine it as a prop for some medieval or steampunk movie.

The note was a little more conventional. His name was on the envelope. He immediately recognized the handwriting when he pulled a single page letter out, but he was unsure why Mike would write him a letter rather than text him.

"Dear John,

My apologies for not being with you when you find the presents I left you in this magical bag."

John stopped and looked at the bag again. "Magical bag?" he said to himself. He continued reading.

"Yes, it is magical. If you reach in, you will find some presents."

It wasn't too surprising that Mike knew what John might be thinking. They had been working together for over a decade creating their company from nothing.

John reached into the bag and pulled out a picture frame of a dollar bill signed by both John and Mike.

"I wanted you to have this. It was from our first sale. Do you remember the night? We signed the contract and didn't have anything to commemorate the occasion. You ordered take out from our favorite restaurant, and gave it to Gus, that homeless man that we used to pass every day to our low budget laboratory, and you asked him for a dollar bill. I was so surprised that he gave it to you.

You promised me that we would never be like Gus. Regardless of our success or failure, we would always be a team.

That night changed everything for me. I knew that we were a team, and that we would weather any storm together. We were able to build on that trust to create the company that dominates the market today. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

John smiled. He fondly remembered that night. It took more than a meal to get that dollar bill from Gus. He haggled better than most boardroom negotiators. John laughed at the memory.

John reached back into the bag, and pulled out a small bag of seeds. Another great callback. He started reading again.

"Can you believe it? We engineered our own plant! Being around you inspired so many ideas, and these seeds are the proof. We were able to develop critical ingredients for life-saving medicines after we learned how to safely and neutralize the toxins found in both the seeds and the plants.

"I am so proud of the achievements we were able to do. I was going to add the awards we won as a result of our groundbreaking work (their words, not mine, lol), but I thought the seeds would be a better reminder."

"I think so, too," John said to himself as he reached back into the bag. THis time, he gripped a house key.

"This is the key to my parent's home."

John stopped. Mike's parents died mysteriously a few months ago, but it looked like Mike was moving on with his life. He read on.

"It was in their attic that I found this bag. My dad said he got it from his time in Southeast Asia, but he was fuzzy on the details. He always looked for the unique and unusual -- and then hoarded it away. How wild is that?

"I also learned that there is a lien on their house. I tried to sell it after they passed, and that is when I learned that it was soon to be foreclosed. I think my parents chose to go on their own terms when they discovered they were going to lose their home."

John's heart started beating a little faster. This was not good. This was not good at all. He rushed to find the next object. It was an RSA Token.

"You probably pulled out the RSA Token. This is to your bank account. Your bank account in the states. I took the liberty of moving all the money you embezzled and hid in your offshore accounts. Don't worry, every dime is accounted for, so it will be an accurate count when the federal authorities seize your assets.

"I won't ask why you did it. I am sure you have your reasons. I imagine it is the mistresses that you keep on the side. It didn't look like their tastes in luxury were affordable, but I didn't spend too much going through your spending line-by-line. I didn't need to. I just needed to figure out why my parents lost their house. You never paid them back for their investments into our dream.

"I won't even ask how you could do this to us. I thought we were a team, but I was wrong in the tune of several million dollars.

"Sadly, I am not sure what will happen first: the company's insolvency or federal prosecution.

"I realize that you are panicking. Don't worry. We are almost done, and I strongly encourage you to pull the last item out.

John jammed his hand into the bag one last time. He reached for his cell phone with his other hand.

He pulled out a small vial.

"This is the cure to the drug I dosed your coffee with. I also met your wife this morning for coffee. She didn't believe me when I told her about your betrayal. Fortunately, she drank the coffee.

"Our seed is very toxic, but we managed to find an antidote for accidental poisoning. I will not know who you plan to save, yourself or your wife. I am taking a dose after I drop this letter and bag on your desk. You did an excellent job entangling me in your web of lies.

"I will close my eyes to remember that night with Gus. Thank you for the success, the friendship, and the sense of belonging. No matter how fleeting it was."

The old gypsy handed Maisie the satchel. Both women’s faces were shrouded by their dark hoods. The old woman’s hand shook, the bracelets on her wrists jangling. Maisie held it in her pale, steady hands and peered inside.

“What’s in it?” Maisie asked.

The gypsy replied in verse: “Take a look, And you will see. It’s not what I tell you, But what you think.”

Maisie just nodded and slung the satchel over her shoulder.

Leaving the old hut, the sunlight burned her eyes- both real and synthetic. She removed her hood and she’s her cloak. It was hot enough in the desert without a thick, heavy coat. Her half-robotic body conducted more heat than before surgery, and it was important that she stayed cool so that her mechanics wouldn’t overheat.

Maisie trekked through the villiage, which was run entirely on steam, her prosthetic leg gliding through the air like butter.

She ducked behind a robosmith’s shop and reached her hand into the satchel. The first object was round and smooth in her hand. A bottle, she realized. Perhaps a bottle of poison?

But she pulled it out, and the label read, H20. __ __ Water. It was nothing but creek water.

Maisie huffed and set it aside.

She grabbed the next item. She traced its body, and there was a barrel in front, with a bigger body attached to it. She felt a trigger and placed her finger gently on it. It had to be a gun!

A crossbow. An ancient crossbow that Maisie couldn’t even use.

She needed something that could kill, not stun.

Maisie thought as hard as she could when she pulled out the next two items.

Deadly, death, murder. __ __ The items were just as useless. A glitter bomb. A can of fart gas.

Maisie wound up her mechanic arm and flung the satchel across the street.

And that’s when the last item fell out.

It was a slip of paper.

Maisie walked over and picked it up. It only read one line:

A crafty cyborg can change the world. __

“What the…” Maisie muttered.

She peered down at her collection.

Suddenly, genius struck.

Maisie rushed over and furiously scooped everything up.

She put the glitter bomb and the fart gas in the crossbow. Then she added the water and relied and the acidity from polluted creeks.

Then, she drew, aimed, and fired.

NOTE FROM PENNY: This is way longer than my usual stuff. My apologies. Hope you like some of it.

Young Charlotte was never sure what would happen when Auntie Barbara would babysit. Auntie Barbara was a wonderful, loving person, with episodes of delirious madness.

The week before Christmas would be another odd adventure.

Mother wasn’t paying attention, or didn’t seem to care, what would happen when Auntie B was babysitting her children. That day she dropped off 7-year-old Charlotte and her brother, 5-year-old Malcolm, at Auntie B’s cozy little cottage just outside of town.

“Charlotte! Malcolm! How wonderful to see you!”

She ushered them inside. Auntie B’s tiny teacup poodle yipped at their feet.

“Leave your coats on! There is much to do! Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?”

They shook their heads.

“Excellent!” She grabbed the keys to her Ford station wagon with wood grain side panels and ushered them into the car. “First one in the car gets their choice of Christmas cookies!”

Of course we raced to get in.

“And hold this!” Auntie B ordered, tossing us a canvas bag. “My purse. We are gonna need all of this stuff today.”

Charlotte and Malcolm peered inside the smoky bag.

Cigarettes.

A tube of Auntie’s bright red lipstick.

A Bible.

A candy cane.

And a blue plastic Rosary.

The two siblings looked at other and shrugged.

“Quick stop,” Auntie B said. “I gotta pick something up.”

She had parked in an alley behind Dot’s Five and Dime.

The kids were too busy eating her Christmas stained glass window cookies to worry about what she was doing.

“Hold on to this bag! Don’t let anyone take it!”

“Ok,” they said.

And she was gone.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Charlotte looked up. A man was standing outside the car. “I need that bag,” he yelled. His fingers scratched at the window. They had long claws.

“Oh no you don’t, coward!”

Auntie B grabbed the scary man by the shoulder and slammed him onto the ground.

Keys in the ignition, Auntie B hit the gas and the car sailed out of the alley back onto the street.

“Charlotte! The Bible! Open it to the book of Job, page 695!”

Three tickets fell out of the Book of Job onto Chatlotte’s lap.

“Hold onto them!”

They drove for the next hour at what Mom might have described as “a rather dangerous speed.”

It soon became apparent that they were being followed. It was a brown Pacer, driven by the man who had tried to get to them in the alley.

“Malcolm! The lipstick! Give it to me!” She held her hand toward the child.

She pulled the cap off the lipstick and threw it out the window. The brown Pacer was soon engulfed in smoke.

“Ha!!” She bellowed.

A few miles later they pulled up to what looked like a tunnel in the mountain. A small, dwarfish person waddled out to greet them. He looked annoyed but accepted the tickets and waved them through. Charlotte was sure he wasn’t happy about something.

The station wagon parked. they all got out and walked to a big door that swung open as they approached.

Another short, dwarfish man sat at a table with a large book. “Sign here. Do you have a pen?”

“Charlotte! Candy cane please!”

With a quick movement to pop the head off the candy cane, Charlotte and Malcom observed that it was actually a pen, not a real candy cane!

“Sign on the parchment,” auntie B said. “Malcolm, you can just draw an X, dear.”

As they finished signing, Auntie B slipped the man a pack of cigarettes. He nodded and cracked a smile. As they walked down the path, they heard the scrape of a matchstick and perceived the burning smell of unfiltered cigarettes.

A knock on a door at the end of a long corridor.

Charlotte and Malcolm couldn’t believe their eyes.

“Santa??”

A large man in red and white sweatpants, a green hoodie and a long white beard faced them. He looked up at Auntie B. “You signed the Nondisclosure Agreement?”

“Ah-yup!”

“C’mon then. Welcome to the tour of Claus Operations, Northeast.”

**

“This was the best tour ever, Auntie B!”

“I’m so glad!” Auntie B chirped. “Wasn’t easy to set it up, that’s for sure! Oh, we have to do one more thing.”

“What?”

She held up the Rosary. “This is for a friend of Santa’s.”

Down a very dark hall they went until they got to a closed door. Auntie B knocked. “Open up, villain!”

A shuffling noise. Bolts and locks undone. The door opened. A large black furred bearish beast looked back at them. It was holding a branch of mistletoe. A red tongue lolled out of its hideous mouth.

“Who dares interrupt the Krampus?”

Auntie B held up the Rosary to the creature’s face.

“Aack, watch what you’re doing with that thing!”

She waved it back and forth. “I’m on a mission from Santa!”

Krampus held his paws to his face. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s cheap religious tokens! What does the old codger want?”

The Uber from Santa’s Northeat workshop arrived just 5 minutes before mom arrived to pick up the kids.

“Thanks so much, Mr. Krampus!”

The exhausted trio unloaded themselves from the little Mitsubishi.

“Weren’t nothing,” he said. “Might want to give me 5 stars, though.”

Leather satchel holds Five secrets, whispered and still Keys to worlds untold.