Leif rolled his shoulders, his exhales rolling out regularly like a wave. He closed his eyes, humming a little tune to himself, a smile tugging at his lips. He had never been more ready for anything in his life. When Michael had approached him, asking for his expertise, he never imagined he would be living out his wildest dreams today in the hopes of saving the entire planet.
“Leif,” Michael had said, “We have a pretty big problemo.”
“What kind of problemo?” Leif had asked warily.
“Well you see, Bernard had some bad ramen and he’s kinda out of commission right now. Seeing as he’s the only doctor we got, we kinda need him to make it through this okay, you know?” Michael said, shuffling his thumpers against the floor.
“You don’t say…” said Leif, his mind already traveling far away, reminiscing of his dreams of making potato medicine a reality.
“Yup. A bit of a pickle we’re in.” Michael had said, nodding emphatically. “Lewis told me you knew some stuff about potatoes that might help and I thought, what the heck, it can’t hurt, right?”
Leif gave no indication that he had heard anything else Michael had said, but mumbled something about needing to prepare. And now, here we were. Show time.
Leif had made some emergency calls and was now ushering in truckloads of potatoes into the living room. He lined the floor with them, easily filling the room with a three foot layer of potatoes. Once that was done, he put his flippers on his hips and admired the fruits of his labor.
He had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. But he must remain focused. These potatoes had a purpose, and so did he.
Leif grabbed a small round potato and began carefully peeling the skin off. He used the potato skin to fashion a formal robe and draped the robe respectfully across his shoulders. He thrust his hands into the flesh of the potato and grabbed a large chunk, smearing it across his face (then licking his hand clean, because what kind of monster wastes potatoes?).
On top of his sea of potatoes, Leif placed a large rug in the shape of a potato. On the rug, he made a small semi-circle of potatoes, inserting small white wicks into each and lighting them as candles. When they were all lit, he took a deep, satisfied breath and stood in the middle of his semi-circle.
He gave a small prayer of gratitude to the potatoes as he raised two potatoes into the air, one clenched tightly in each fist. He spun slowly, his potatoes twirling through the air like two ballerinas performing their swan song for the world.
A tear welled in Leif’s eyes as he felt the united consciousness of his potatoes. Their yearning for healing and a better world. He thanked them for their sacrifice as he continued to twirl. The potatoes needed him for this part, and he wouldn’t let them down.
Leif thought he heard some soft violin melodies playing in the background, but he was having a hard time focusing, the world around him melting into a kaleidoscope of colors. Leif gripped his potatoes tighter, spinning faster and faster until the world faded from view.
Leif woke up to his face cushioned by lumpy potatoes. Bernard’s concerned face lowered to peer at Leif.
“You alright, pal?” he asked, patting Leif’s small head.
Leif smiled, seeing Bernard healthy and happy.
“I will be.” he said, his eyes fluttering softly, as he drifted back to sleep. “We all will be.”