“I’m feeling merciful today,” the narrator said, sitting at the end of a long conference room table with her feet up on it. The room, apparently called the ‘shark tank’, had transparent glass walls, some colourless while others were orange. “Ordinarily when one of my creations attempts to overthrow me, I simply stop writing stories about them, essentially casting them into the void of emptiness. But Bucket, you’ve been so depressed over my last few stories that I just can’t bring myself to do it. And so, I’ve come up with a compromise that will make everyone happy. Or at least, not miserable.”
Bucket couldn’t bring itself to say anything, sure that whatever compromise the narrator presented wouldn’t be favourable for it at all.
“I’m all ears,” Harvey said with a shrug. “I kind of just want to go back to renting beach shacks down in Dromana.”
The narrator nodded. “I understand, but I have something much more interesting for you planned. As for Bucket, you will go back to the stories and be a regular character appearing in tales about blocked drains in the Melbourne area. You are a bucket, after all.”
Bucket simply let out a grumbling breath, not happy about it but sure that there would be no other option presented. So, Bucket would have to spend the rest of its days around drain plumbers and twenty-somethings who couldn’t work out why their sinks were draining slowly. Maybe if it was lucky, it’d be used to help a professional for water heater installation every once in a while.
“Can’t Bucket and I at least stay together?” Harvey asked, clutching Bucket particularly tight. “I’ve grown quite attached.”
“I can see that,” the narrator said. “That’s exactly the problem. I made Bucket too addictive. You can’t step away from it, even for a moment. You are far too dangerous together. Separated, I think I can handle you both, which means I don’t have to banish you to the compile.”
Banish them to the compile? An idea struck Bucket like a brick. Maybe there was some way to salvage this poor situation after all…