The Tale of Bingo
Bingo considered himself a most well-ordered raccoon these days. He knew of some raccoons that longed after adventure, who might join with other animal friends to save the environment, or who might venture into space and fight aliens. Bingo now was not that sort of raccoon. He was a raccoon of study, who liked to conceal himself in his forest hideaway and read deep intellectual works. Bingo had, he knew not how, acquired the ability to read, and had taught himself the English language. Although he was deeply ashamed of it, he had stolen human books, and then read them. He was very happy.
Still, though, at times, Bingo longed for something greater. He would step out of his hideaway at night and stare longingly at a patch of stars, and wonder what it was like out there, whether things had changed. Then he would dismiss the feeling, go back inside, and make himself a bit of cocoa. His life was calm. Quiet. Untroubled.
Then the angel came.
Bingo was just starting a new book he had snagged from the library, a young-adult dystopia where a girl named after a flower challenged some evil regime or other. Suddenly, the angel interrupted. “Yo,” it said, its golden light spilling across the pages.
“Wha!” squeaked Bingo.
“I’m Constance,” the angel said. “What’s up?”
“Wha!” Bingo repeated.
“Yeah, I getcha. Angels don’t often communicate with animals, right? Well, we do sometimes. My friend Tabitha had a great conversation with a dolphin the other day. It was named Skip. She and Skip rescued some castaways. It was big in the news. Anyway. Here’s the thing: I need your help.”
“Me?” said Bingo. “What for?”
Constance sighed. “I wish I had a Powerpoint projector to explain all this. Let me sum up. You know about Gaseous Girl, right? She’s a super, protects Edison City, nice girl. Should go to church more often, but that’s understandable, and she talks to Father Milo when she can. Okay, so she’s got herself in hell, and long story short she’s trying to get out, only there’s a huge hell-army blocking her path. Like, real big.”
Bingo was confused. “But what have I got to do with it?”
Constance grinned. “I know you, buddy. And before you went all philosophical, you worked with lasers. Zapped a shark or too, didn’t ya?”
The raccoon looked very much abashed. “It was a different time, then. There were sharks everywhere, sharks in tornados, sharks in space even. I had to do something. But I swore off that life ages ago, honestly I did.”
“Welp, you just swore back on. Thing is, you’re the only one who can help. You don’t, she dies. And if she dies, the whole universe goes plotz. Save Gaseous Girl, save the universe. Or don’t. Your call.”
Bingo didn’t see as he had much of a choice. “I will need a moment,” he said miserably. “I will need to hunt out the old battle-suit again.”
“Excellent,” said Constance, giggling. This was going to be fun.
