The Burgundy Bag

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

The Burgundy Bag

By Plot Roach

The bag sat at the corner of the blanket. It was nothing special that Jessica could think of, but it somehow stuck out from the rest of the others. Deep burgundy in color with black edging and black metal zippers. The material was a thin canvas weave, and the arms straps had barely any padding. But it was how the bag was decorated that gave it the most personality. It was covered in handwriting done in black Sharpie marker. Most of it she could not understand, but a few of the lines appeared to be sections of a poem. She knew that she liked what it said, but she could not remember the words a few seconds after she took her eyes off of the bag. If she stared hard enough at the writing, the bag appeared to move, almost as if it was breathing. That’s silly, she told herself. It can’t be alive. But she hesitated to reach for the bag, afraid that it might bite her.

“See something you like?” the man asked. He had his things for sale spread out on an old Army blanket. There were others vendors like him doing the same, their goods laid out on blankets or sheets to keep them off of the grass and to establish their selling area.

“What about that backpack?” she asked.

The man squinted down at the bag. “It’s not for sale.” he said and snatched the bag off of the blanket. “I don’t know how it got there, but it belongs to me.”

“I know it belongs to you, that’s why I asked how much it was.”

“It’s still not for sale.”

“Okay, fine.” Jessica said and moved to the next blanket. She knew how this worked. He wanted more money for the bag and would tell her it was not for sale so that when he finally relented, she would pay what he asked and not haggle over the price. A few steps into the next vendor’s territory, and he called out to her.

“I’ve got other fine bags, young lady.”

“I’m sure that you do.” she answered. “But I was wondering about that one.”

“You don’t want this one.”

“Then why did I ask about it?”

He sighed and waved her off. She shrugged and visited the rest of the vendors, but nothing caught her eye quite like the burgundy backpack. It was all that she could think about, and her eyes kept darting back to his blanket, hoping that he would not sell it to anyone else.

She watched from afar, and while the man did a few sales that day, he was nowhere as busy as the other vendors. She thought that would make him want to part with the bag even more. A few times someone would ask the man a question and he would reach into his burgundy bag and produce an item. The customer would smile and nod, and money would change hands.

She tried to put the bag out of her mind, but could not. At the end of the day, when the vendors were collecting what was left of their goods. Jessica walked past the man, eyeing the bag. Maybe I’ll ask him one more time, she thought. Maybe he’ll change his mind. She hovered just within sight of him. He bundled up his blanket, and started to transfer his things to the beaten up old van he had parked on the corner of the lot. She followed at a distance, trying not to look conspicuous. He opened the squeaking doors of the van and started to pile his things in. When his attention was elsewhere, she snatched the burgundy backpack from the ground and walked away. She forced herself not to run, because she was sure that it would draw attention to herself.

She heard the man yell a moment later and call out for help. “Someone stole my bag!” He was telling another vendor what it looked like and Jessica moved a little quicker away, hiding in a nearby building until the commotion died down and she could move on in peace.

Why did I do that? She asked herself, looking down at the backpack in her hands. I could go to jail for this. All for some dumb bag that looks like a kid wrote all over it. I don’t even like burgundy. It would have been better if it was all black instead.

As her hands ceased shaking from the adrenaline of her theft, she noticed that the burgundy of the bag began to darken. Black, she thought, it’s becoming black. And five minutes later, the back was a solid black color. Though the writing was still there, just another shade darker than the background color of the bag.

What is this? She asked herself. Then she heard voices coming towards her. “Have you seen a burgundy bag with black writing on it?” a woman asked. “A man outside said that it was stolen from him and we’re trying to get it back.”

“Sorry,” Jessica said. “I haven’t seen one here.” And while she was not completely truthful, she was not completely lying either. The only bag currently to be seen in this building was now black. A few minutes later, the good Samaritan moved on and Jessica snuck out the back of the building and ran toward her car.

She paused long enough to search for her keys in her purse, only to discover that she had locked them in the car. Of all the rotten luck. If only I had a backup set in my bag, she thought. Then I wouldn’t have to call a locksmith.

As she moved away from the car, she heard a distinctive jingle from the inside of the backpack. On a hunch she reached inside and pulled out a set of keys. “No”, she said aloud, “it couldn’t be.” But when she examined the main key, it looked just like the door key to her car. She put it into the lock and a moment later was rewarded when the door to her car popped open.

She sat in the driver’s seat, her mind racing. “I want a thousand dollars in twenty dollar bills.” she said, reaching into the bag. But her hand only came into contact with the canvas of the bag. Maybe it can’t do money, she thought. Maybe it can only do things. I want an ice cold diet Coke, in a can. She felt the bag gain a little weight and put her hand once again into the bag, pulling out her request. She popped the top open on the soda and took a long swig. It tasted just like the real thing, but where had it come from? And why could the bag manifest a cold soda, but not a stack of cash? Obviously the bag had some limitations, and Jessica was going to have fun finding them out.