He carried his pennies in a musty jar. Big for a young boy, but surely a good jar nonetheless. Waddling to and fro in tow with his mother to the large granite counter at the old national bank. He saved them from all his past birthdays, gifts, and treasures found in the park and shopping mall floors. He was most assuredly an entrepreneur at the ripe old age of seven. Basking in his wealth, the hefty haul made out for seven whole dollars. He was a made man. Would he get that boat, and finally traverse the globe? Or perhaps a suit of fine armor worthy of defending a kingdom? His dreams and wants danced in his head until he made it to the store with his earnings. Tons of prizes and desires rested on the shelves. Colors of all kinds, and all shapes and sizes. His eyes bounced about like one of the many balls in one of the bins nearby. What to do, what to do. Then it caught his eye. A little man sat in a box near the bottom shelf. He had a little red beret, and camouflaged pants. He was small, but he looked strong, like an adventurer! He went home with the toy, saving three dollars for more choice investments.
His mother removed the little plastic M16 from the box after the boy had gone to bed that night. She'd not quite decided if she was comfortable with guns in the house. At least none meant for kids. When waking up the next morning, the boy was shocked at the disappearance. How will this adventurer destroy the evil fury of the purring tank that perched about the house, or conquer the depths of the basement and the maze of Dad's bar stools? After a brief time of sadness, he had hope once more. This was an adventurer that would not give up so easily! He would face his troubles with or without his weapons. He would brave the large metal monster in the closet, as it kicked on with a monstrous roar in the winter months. He and the toy would brave the cold woods and scale the side of the mighty snowman guarding the dog house. There was a world of adventure to be had, and the world was ever expanding.
A time later, old hands would find this adventurer in a box. Dusty. Faded. He was washed off in the sink, along with grime and dust from other boxes, and the wedding ring placed back on after, fitting into place among thick callouses and scars. After a wash, the adventurer looked much healthier. His beret was still red, although darker with age. And he had become more brittle, but still had fight left in him. With his counterpart in tow, a moment passed, thinking of all those adventures. All the mountains conquered, and all the time since. A grandchild was on the way, and so it seemed. The world was an ever expanding place, and there was adventure to be had.
This story originally appeared on reddit here as a spur of the moment comment I made.
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