It was a new day within The Bubble; the wonderful snow globe-shaped homeland created by the imagination of Clyde Coneil. Clyde was a 7-year-old boy with short, blond hair and a slightly chubby stomach, and though he had his reality, his best friend in the whole world was an imaginary duck named Quacker; the first resident within The Bubble. Evidently sooner or later, more friends of Clyde would take on hospitality in The Bubble as well.

Everyone in The Bubble cherished Clyde, always trying to make him feel better, but they never truly understood what got him down. The Bubble had games, a magic zoo, a donut shop, and even a Wishing Rock who could make your birthday dreams come true, and yet every day, Clyde seemed so sad.

For the day of Clyde’s 8th birthday, Quacker got the gang together to throw him the best party he’d ever had. First, they would head to the Wishing Rock; this would ensure Clyde of the oncoming fun to come. Afterward, they would meet with Turtle Telaak, who would thus take hold of Clyde’s birthday money and deposit it into The Piggy Bank to save up for a cool toy. All of that followed by a ride on Pugzillas’ back, a movie at the Computer Kings Theater, and an Italian dinner at Bred’s restaurant would make the day perfect.

The day had begun, but the hours before Clyde’s arrival hadn’t gone so smoothly, for The Bubble had a crack.

“A crack?” quacked Quacker confusedly. “The Bubble has never had even close to a scratch.”

“Well, I’d know what a scratch looks like,” chuckled CB the CD, “And I’ve had my fair share of cracks too, so believe me when I tell you that was a cr-cr-cr-crack.”

“But what could’ve caused such damage?” Quacker was puzzled to his core, but before he had a chance to check it out Clyde had arrived as happy as ever. “Clyde!” Quacker let out multiple quacks; the more quacks let out the happier Quacker were.

“Hello, Quacker! It’s my birthday today!” exclaimed Clyde in a cheerful tone.

“Had you believed we’d forgotten?” asked Quacker, gazing at the smile growing over Clyde’s face, “We’ve already prepared you a party like no other.”

The gang made their way to the Wishing Rock and awoke it from its slumber. The Wishing Rock had, like everyone else, remembered it was Clyde’s birthday, and it could barely contain its excitement.

“Another year gone by just like that . . . I’d have just snapped if I could,” joked the Wishing Rock, and everyone laughed. “Are you having a good day, Clyde?” 

Clyde looked down hesitantly, and it was then that Quacker noticed the bruise on his right arm.

“Your arm, Clyde! Are you alright?” asked Quacker concerningly. Quacker looks up at Clyde anxious for an answer, but he only went on to talk to the Wishing Rock.

“Mr. Wishing Rock, do I get to make a wish this year?” asked a hopeful Clyde.

It took the Wishing Rock a second to answer since he too had been curious about the bruised arm, but he responded in his natural cheering tongue, “Well, of course Clyde, wish for whatever you’d like.”

A huge smile emerged over Clyde’s face and his excitement matched to if it had been Christmas Day. It didn’t take long for the boy to think up a wish, and perhaps he had already known beforehand what he planned to ask for.

 “I wish for a life supply of Quacker Crackers!” Clyde yelled out happily. Everyone laughed and cheered, and Quacker let out some quacks of his own. Quackers Crackers were a favorite of Clyde’s within The Bubble. They were saltine crackers with a strong addictive feeling to them, and Clyde could never get enough.

Suddenly the first crate of crackers arrived, and Quacker happily made off to grab a pack for the boy. However, when Quacker opened the crate, it was not crackers lying within but instead rows upon rows of nicotine patches.

“What the duck is this?” quacked Quacker, regretful of his foul language but thankful Clyde wasn’t close enough to hear. Quacker was at a loss of what to do, so he closed the crate and went back to the gang.

“Were those them?” asked Clyde.

“No, Clyde, but I’m sure they’ll be here later,” Quacker lied with a hopeful reassurance.

“Oh,” said Clyde, slightly upset.

“How about you and Pugzilla go drop off that birthday money at the old Turtle Telaaks place,” Quacker insisted, hoping to raise Clyde’s spirit.

A smile spread across Clyde’s face as Pugzilla walked over to his side. Pugzilla was at least two times bigger than Clyde, and was only but a bigger dog than the ones you’d find in everyday life. Gently, the big, friendly pug let Clyde climb upon his back, and as the two made off, Quacker took no time walking straight up to the Wishing Rock. 

“Those weren’t Quacker Crackers!” complained Quacker, “Why would you give the kid nicotine patches?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” pleaded the Wishing Rock. “I gave him just what he asked for.”

“Don’t be a wise quacker. I specifically heard him ask for Quacker Crackers!” proclaimed Quacker. He was angry now and had no intention of believing the Wishing Rock whether it was telling the truth or not.

“I promise you, Quacker; I have no idea how that could’ve happened,” the Wishing Rock said worriedly.

“Well . . . we better quack this case before this parties over cause I’m not gonna let Clyde have another bad day,” quacked Quacker determinedly.

While the rest of the gang headed off with Clyde to the Computer Kings Theater, Quacker made off to Agent Toads Detective Agency. A detective was never really needed within The Bubble. Maybe every now and then a game would involve the concept of detective work, but Agent Toad really only showed up one day never to be of use.

Quacker sat at the desk of Agent Toad waiting for him to show, and finally after a few minutes, the humanoid toad stepped out from his lunch break, wearing a large brown trench coat with a pipe in his mouth.

“You’re Quacker, right?” Agent Toad asked not caring to wait for an answer, “I’m Agent Toad, but just call me Toad. What’s the issue?”

“Nicotine patches, they showed up in replacement of Quacker Crackers,” said Quacker.

Agent Toad lets out a large RIBBIT and leans against his desk curiously, “I was wondering when someone would come to me about that. Earlier today I helped myself to the snack only to find the same thing.”

“But what could this mean?” asked Quacker.

“Tell me, Quacker, have you ever noticed the kind folks of this enclosed mindscape?” babbled Agent Toad.

“By what do you mean?” asked Quacker, confused.

“We’re all made up of a little reality. Something, someone, no matter how small a detail has been taken from Clyde’s real life and placed into here,” said Agent Toad. He was pacing around the room now as if reaching for something he could never quite grasp, but suddenly he let out another RIBBIT, and he knew. “Realities settling in.”

Before Quacker could find out what it meant a scream was heard from outside.

“The money! It’s all gone!” Turtle Telaak cried.

Quacker and Agent Toad stumbled out of the agency to find everyone gathered around The Piggy Bank.

“But a’ who would do such a thing?” Bred growled in a thick Italian accent.

“Now this is not c-c-c-cool,” complained CB the CD.

Quacker noticed Clyde with his head down and rushed over to his side. Quacker didn’t speak, but he held onto Clyde’s hand noticing yet another bruise this time shown across Clyde’s left cheek; except it wasn’t the only bruise. More bruises began to slowly show, and as they did the faint sound of cracking swept through the air. It was then that Quacker understood those words spoken by Agent Toad. Reality was settling in.

Woosh . . . CRASH!

The glass surrounding The Bubble shattered and sprinkled into nothingness; taking the light and leaving only darkness to surround the green lands. 

Quacker tried to talk to Clyde, but before he could, the boy disappeared. Quacker was confused, scared, and most of all worried about what may have happened to his best friend. He did not understand the bruises, for them to show only then and never once before, but he knew he needed to find him.

The other friends of Clyde’s were in a panic, but Agent Toad stayed true to his purpose and went on to help Quacker.

“Those bruises, did he get them here?” demanded Agent Toad.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Quacker, sounding beat.

“So then I was right,” Agent Toad admitted upsettingly while taking the pipe out of his mouth. Agent Toad then let out a quiet ribbit which grabbed Quackers attention.

“Why’d you just do that?” asked Quacker, “You do that whenever you’ve thought of something; what is it!” Quacker began to quack aggressively..

“You’re his parent,” uttered Agent Toad.

“What?” quacks Quacker confused.

“I told you Clyde’s real life has been placed into here . . . I think you’re his ideal parent,” Agent Toad added.

Quacker began to cry, for how many tears he shed no one could count, but he didn’t stop for a long time. His best friend was somewhere hurting, and he had no way of getting to him in his need for comfort. Quacker could not be there to be the parent he supposedly was to the boy, and it broke him.

“I need to find him,” said Quacker determinedly. “Where do I go?”

“Perhaps you could cross through the darkness which surrounds us, and just maybe it’ll bring you to him, but I have no evidence of such, and even if you do get through I have no further proof of your re-entry into here,” Agent Toad said as faithful as he could be.

Quacker gave Agent Toad a nod, and as the darkness enclosed into the middle of the town he stepped out into it. Quacker walked farther and farther until eventually the home to all his memories was no longer seen, but what he now saw instead was Clyde sitting scrunched up on the curb outside his home with his head down. A police officer sharing resemblance to Agent Toad spoke to Clyde in an effort to cheer him up. Meanwhile another officer escorted Clyde’s drunken mother into a police car and drove off.

Quacker watched as the officer next to Clyde admired the bruises with care and took to holding the boy’s hand as they walked off to the man’s car. 

Quacker was happy to see the smile on his friend’s face as the man buckled him into his car seat, but Quacker chose not to show himself. He knew that If Clyde ever needed him, he would be back in The Bubble. Though may it be that The Bubble no longer stood, it originally only stood for reasons Clyde had now resolved. Quacker was no longer needed to help Clyde, and while he cried about such plenty before, he could only smile now.

The End