It is a regular Thursday mid-morning.

Bagley awakens from a half-remembered dream and blinks a sleepy hello to his cream ceiling. He watches a spider scuttle across its large expanse in fits and starts.

He wonders, as badgers often do. Soon, wondering becomes wandering, and Bagley finds himself downstairs, alphabetizing biscuits.

Now, dear reader, most people sort biscuits by their crunchiness, dunk ability, or chocolate content. But Bagley isn’t most people. He isn’t most badgers. He is a peculiar sort of creature who finds great satisfaction in placing an Aniseed Button next to an Almond Snap, whilst the Cornflake Clusters and Custard Creams carry on a centuries-old feud over who came first.

Bagley likes to feel occupied. It distracts him from thinking about all the things he does not know. These include where he comes from, and where he is going.

Regardless, Bagley trundles on.

He potters from corner to corner like a star-nosed mole, bumping gently into life’s edges with a good-natured wrinkle of his snout.

He may not seem like it, dear reader, but Bagley is a zombie. Not a real zombie – Bagley does not eat brains with his porridge – but in every sense of the word, yes – Bagley is a zombie. 

Bagley is confused, dear reader, although he does not know it. It clouds his vision like a fog.

He believes things to be always As They Are. 

But we are going to un-confuse him very soon. 

Aren’t we, Bagley…?

Bagley looks around for a moment, faintly disconcerted. He twitches his ears, dislodging a loose penny that falls to the floor with a ding!

He blinks, confused, before reaching down to collect the copper disk and studies it. Anxiety twitches in his paws as he tries to understand its presence – then he gives a tentative sniff. *sniff sniff*  – and puts it in his pocket to continue with the task at hand. 

Eccles Cakes.

Bagley likes order. Bagley likes predictability. Bagley likes to know what’s coming next.

Well. Look out, Bagley. You have no idea.

*?*?*?*?*

Bagley’s days are gently odd and pleasantly repetitive. He wakes up at precisely nine-ish, brews Dandelion Tea, and spends mornings being very busy – pairing Knick Knacks with Odds and Ends, making lists of Important Things or simply staring Into Nothing for a while. 

Afternoons are spent writing Letters to the Sky. 

No one writes back.
But that is beside the point.

Bagley lives in a crooked cottage at the edge of Somewhere and Not-Quite-Nowhere, nestled between a whispering hedgerow and a burbling brook. Evenings find him on the porch watching dusk melt into darkness. This quiet life continues for As Long As It Takes. Only when the stars wriggle with questions does Bagley turn in, convinced tomorrow will be just the same.

This morning, however, something unusual is about to happen. And aren’t we lucky, dear reader, to be party to it? 

Just after the last biscuit is placed (a Wagon Wheel, in case you were wondering) and before Bagley embarks on his usual walk from the pantry to the kitchen table, a noise sounds from behind the cupboard.

A shuffly-shump.

Then a click.

Then silence.

Bagley pauses.

Tilts his head.

Listens.

Nothing.

So, Bagley continues his usual morning stroll across the kitchen. He settles with a contented sigh in his favorite spot at the table. His pen and special paper lay before him. He pauses, gathers his thoughts, and begins to write: 

Dear Sky,
Do you ever worry about being too big?
Sometimes I worry I am too small.
Yours indecisively,
Bagley B.

And just as he signs his name with a rather elegant flourish –

Wa-Choo !!!

The cupboard sneezes.

Did you really think no one was listening, Bagley?

Editor: Lucy Cafiero