To recap last episode — when the planets aligned and I finally figured out my life — I decided to draw Tarot versions of key aspects of the Bonesick universe. In addition to this, I’m going to pair mini Bonesick story slices with these illustrations to breathe life into the overall story arc symbolism. I’ll also provide you with a quick crash course in each Tarot card’s traditional meaning, so you’re not completely in the dark. Are you with me so far? Awesome.
Here’s the challenge.
Beyond just some quick notes and daydreams, I have nothing officially plotted for this story structure. For the sake of keeping this exercise fun, I’m totally winging it. I’m a ‘pantser,’ but ‘plantser’ in training. So you and I are on this wild ride together now, and the first card in the deck is exactly the kind of magic dust we need.
Ok let’s get our esoteric nerdery on and reboot this thing!
0 | The Fool
To kick things off proper, we start with card zero, The Fool, which traditionally features a young person at the razor’s edge of a mountain or crest or cliff, carrying a satchel of some kind, fresh-faced, perhaps a bit naive, but excited for something new. Think Frodo Baggins from Lord of the Rings, and you’ve got yourself the quintessential Fool archetype. The label isn’t so much disparaging, but encouraging. Drop all of our hangups and venture into the unknown for the sheer thrill of adventure?! We should all be so lucky! When you pull The Fool card, you could probably use a fresh start with as little baggage as possible. All you need are the clothes on your back, maybe a toothbrush, some Lembas bread, plenty of courage, and a service animal to keep you company.
And this is where we meet our dearest pal, Toby, and our very first story slice…
0 | The Reboot
One full minute past 8 o’clock, Toby shoved his boney fingers toward the triplet beats of the alarm on his nightstand. He managed to knock over one pen, a cup that contained a swallow of water, and two books — one about a boy looking for treasure in the desert that Pam recommended and one about a boy who stole a famous bird painting from a famous museum that Toby decided to read instead. He also bumped into an old bottle of hand lotion for extra dry skin, rendered useless since The Procedure about a year ago — an odd echo of the old times.
In the space next to him, Toby heard Pam stir. He lifted his eye mask and surveyed the damage all over the floor. “Sorry. I was having that dream again,” Toby whispered over his shoulder.
“The canyon?” Pam softly muttered.
“Yeah.” Toby stretched and pushed the nest of blankets to his left. He sat up and dangled his SkinFree legs over the bed’s edge, gazing absently at the clean, slick plastic compound that coated everything from toes on up. “I was just so close to something. And… and there was a signpost this time: the bridge was out. I don’t remember there ever being a bridge or a sign before. So what’s next? What do I do? Climb? BASE Jump? Teleport? I’m just stuck there. It’s maddening.”
“Maybe you’ll find out next time.” Pam stretched her soft tentacles and slunk out from under the blankets. “Or maybe the mystery is the point; have you ever considered that?”
Pam was Toby’s resident therapist, sage, and roomie all rolled into one plush, pink blob. He spotted her in the back alley shortly after he was released from the clinic. She was hiding amongst bags of old produce, a stack of pallets, a pulverized chest of drawers, and a urine-soaked loveseat. In a life that felt most certainly real—more alarmingly visceral despite how The Procedure altered everything about his viscera—Toby was almost sure that Pam, with the one closed eye and three fuzzy tentacles, was not real. But he asked her to stay with him just the same.
“I suppose the obvious answer is that it’s an opportunity for a do-over, which considering…” Toby sheepishly waved his hand over his skeletal frame, and then confided, “but in the dream, standing there on that precipice, right at the very edge, the world so cavernous, beckoning to swallow me whole, it feels more like an ending than a beginning.”
“If we’re philosophizing about your death, can I have coffee first?” Pam pleaded as she floated toward the kitchen. Toby stood and followed her, feeling only mildly miffed because, while she teased him at the right moments, he trusted Pam would never ridicule his most serious concerns.
In truth, Toby had been given an opportunity for a do-over. But no one had actually prepped him for what to do next. After The Procedure, the only instructions he’d received were as follows:
How to care for the substance they called “Detagozamia”—the new polycarbonate compound that replaced his skin.
A stern warning to never open the cardboard box that came home with him.
Touch base with Pam or his sponsor, Sully, if he experienced any of the mild side effects.
Contact Sicada Labs Tech Support if he experienced any of the serious side effects.
Toby searched for any trace of side effects as he scanned the contents of the canyon dream, permutations of which had been on repeat since The Procedure. Fear coiled its way around his guts, nestled deep inside this so-called protective shell.
Pam prepared a kettle of water, and Toby winced at the shrill whine of coffee beans grinding down into tiny bits. She suggested, “What about a sabbatical?”
“Pam I was just off work for half a year! Honestly, I’m lucky I wasn’t canned.” Toby recalled his last day at the clinic. He’d recovered much faster than most Candidates; his doctor chalked it up to sheer willpower. And it was true, Toby just wanted to get back to work. The morning he walked into the hallowed doors of Nüch’s grocery division headquarters, snaked his way through the tunnels of cubicles, and knocked on his boss’s office door, it was like nothing had changed. The man slapped Toby on the back and dumped a manilla folder into his arms—a bloated mess of paperclips, sticky notes, and an acre of dead pulp from the northwoods. Thank God you’re here, I never knew what to make of this project. Of course, you’ll need to hustle. Check your email, I forwarded it all back to you. And that was that. Toby returned to his cube, dusty but just as he left it, and got to work. He ordered lunch in, then dinner, and left after everyone had gone home; the first of many late nights to come.
Pam chuckled under her breath, “Lucky… yeah.”
Toby rolled his eyes, “You don’t get it. That’s fine. But this week my boss told me I was the only one he trusted in the entire office. He’s counting on me.”
Pam let the soft tumble of bubbles hitting metal take over the conversation as she considered Toby’s current stage of the process. It was standard for Candidates to cling to a few old habits as they navigated these strange waters, but this was a little much. She decided to change the subject. “What do you want to do today?”
Toby considered his Saturday free time, wide open like the canyon in his dream. “I’ve got some vinyl to organize?”
The whistle of the kettle punctuated Pam’s relief, “Brilliant, I’ll help.” Pam left the pour-overs to Toby and retreated into the living room, four walls packed with shelves and cubbies stuffed with records. She flipped through a crate on the floor, Toby’s heavy metal collection, waiting to be cataloged. She eyed a record still resting on the player: Lesley Gore Sings of Mixed-Up Hearts. Pam pushed a button and the vinyl began to spin; she dropped the needle in place, three songs in. Gentle notes from some variety of idiophone instrument filled the room. Lesley’s incandescent voice mingled with wafts of dark chocolate and clove. Minutes later, Toby walked in with two mugs.
They sat and sipped. Unable to shake it, Toby tongued the ragged edge of his dream as if it were a chipped tooth. Something about it felt solid, much sturdier than his waking life. But it was broken too. If this Procedure wasn’t the fix, what options were left? The dream dissolved into an empty cavity he dared not touch. Not yet, he shuddered and took another sip.
Synchronicity of the Week: My February “tarotscope” from The Moon Studio dealt The Fool card to my inbox yesterday:
References: The “fools rush in” quote is from An Essay on Criticism by English poet Alexander Pope circa 1711. The “angels lie” lyric is from the Slipknot song “Snuff.” The two books Toby knocked over are The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. Highly recommend them both.
Next time: There will be blood of Biblical proportions.