A Leprechaun, a Rainbow, and a Pot of Gold

We know there’s a leprechaun and a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow—if we can find it. But what happens when the rainbow disappears? Where do the leprechaun and the pot of gold go? Perhaps a more interesting question to consider is this—what happens if the leprechaun loses his rainbow? How will he ever find it again? After all, no rainbow ever shows up in the same place twice. Everybody knows that.

So, if a leprechaun were to lose his rainbow, it would be very difficult to find it again. All leprechauns grow up learning this—taught by their leprechaun mothers never to lose their rainbow but to stay close to it—no matter what. Because if it disappears without them, they may never find it again.

You might think that leprechauns stick by their rainbows because they are the jealous guardians of their pots of gold. That’s just not true. Well, for most of them. Some of them are rather jealous fellows, but we’ll get to that. No, they stay close to their rainbow because it’s their connection to the magical world.

If it disappears without them, eventually, they’ll become just like you and me. Ordinary. Which isn’t a bad thing but not necessarily what a leprechaun wants to be. Certainly not the leprechaun of our tale. But what we want isn’t always what ends up happening. Again, not necessarily a bad thing.

Rory the leprechaun sat on his pot of gold at the end of his rainbow, day after day. He loved his pot of gold. He was one of those few, jealous leprechauns I mentioned earlier. And no other leprechaun was quite as jealous or protective of his gold as Rory.

See, most leprechauns used their gold for good—to help the world around them as they traveled through it, carried along by their rainbow’s whims. They’d appear in one place, give gold to those poor, unfortunate souls who really needed it, and then as their rainbow disappeared, they’d move on to the next place. Helpful, right?

Not Rory. Oh no. Somewhere in Rory’s life—which I can pinpoint exactly, seeing as I am the narrator of this short story—he realized that he loved gold more than he loved other people. He once had love for people in his heart, years and years ago. But something changed all that.

What happened was this: His fragile, young heart was broken one too many times by the one person who should have done whatever it took to make sure Rory’s heart remained safe and unbroken—his mother.

She didn’t do it intentionally, mind you, but she was focused on many things besides Rory, such as her work. She would forget promises she made to her young, leprechaun son—broken promises that in turn broke his heart. She had no time for him at all because of her work. To make up for it, she’d give him larger and larger amounts of gold for each forgotten promise. Slowly, subtly, Rory’s mother impressed upon her child that gold was more important than a loving relationship. Indeed, he believed that gold was more important than people.

As such, Rory jealously held onto his gold and avoided people, unaware that he was simply using it to protect his heart from ever being broken again. He covered his heart with his gold—which meant that Rory had a heart of gold, but not in the sense you might think.

Dragons guarding their treasure hordes were less protective of their gold than Rory. I once heard a story about Rory actually fighting a firedrake foolish enough to try and steal his gold from him. Whether or not the story is true is really beside the point.

The idea of giving up his gold to anyone—much less someone in need—was laughable. Rory had actually laughed—on more than one occasion—in the face of someone asking him for help. A rather nasty fellow for a protagonist, huh? You can see where this story is going, can’t you?

Good. Then you’re aware of what had to change in Rory’s heart—even if he wasn’t. But that’s how many stories go, isn’t it? Most times, we, as the readers, understand the dilemma far better than the protagonist. We read to discover whether or not the protagonist also realizes it by the end of the story. And whether Rory does or not, well, you’ll have to read on.

One day—a day of no particular significance other than that it was when a surprising turn of events took place—Rory was sitting on the edge of his pot of gold. He did that most days. Every day, actually. That would make you think his muscles would atrophy—or at the very least, that Rory would get bored of that monotonous routine day after day—but keep in mind that Rory was a leprechaun, which meant he was genetically equipped for such a task as sitting on a pot of gold all day. Not to mention the fact that as a leprechaun, he was magical. Oh, and this is just a story. No sense in reading into such things too deeply.

On this particular day, Rory found himself somewhere deep in a forest glade. The sun was shining, and as Rory looked up, he could see his iridescent rainbow arching overhead in the blue sky. He quite liked forest glades. Not because he enjoyed being in nature any more than the average leprechaun, but because forest glades usually meant no people. And that meant no insufferable pleading for financial aid or begging for handouts.

As such, Rory could just sit back and relax. He was about to do just that when he noticed a glint of something shiny on the forest floor just on the far edge of the glade. The sun was reflecting off it, whatever it was, and it had Rory transfixed.

He wondered what it could be. His mind immediately went to gold. After all, gold was shiny, and he loved gold. What else could it be? As you know, the shiny object could have been a myriad of other things besides gold—and it was—but that thought never even crossed Rory’s fixated mind. He was convinced that it was gold. And, of course, Rory was wrong.

But protagonists have to be wrong on occasion. For one thing, it introduces conflict to the story and helps move things along. For another thing, making mistakes is what helps readers remember that protagonists are only human. Well, Rory was a leprechaun, but leprechauns make mistakes just like humans.

And he made one now. A really, really big one.

See, Rory had gold on his mind and couldn’t get it off of it. He loved gold, remember? He had a lot of it already, stashed away in his kettle pot—more than most. But here’s the thing about Rory and his unhealthy obsession with gold: what he had wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough. He would always want more and more and more.

The “gold” glinted in the sunlight tantalizingly, taunting Rory with how far away it was from him. He growled in frustration and took a furtive look around the glade, searching for movement. If he saw anyone or anything, he’d stay right where he was, perched over his pot of gold like a strange, fiercely protective gargoyle. But Rory saw nothing. There was no movement to be seen. He was truly alone.

And so, Rory hopped off his pot of gold and scurried over to the far edge of the forest glade, pulled by the “gold’s” siren-like allure. Greedily, he bent over to brush away the fallen leaves partially covering it. He crowed triumphantly as he picked up—what was that?

A button?

Rory squinted at the small, decidedly-not-gold object in the palm of his hand. It was a button. He sniffed it experimentally, and his lip curled in distaste. Brass, by the smell of it. Scowling, Rory turned to trudge back over to his pot of gold. He froze.

Where was his pot of gold?

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times in disbelief. Surely his eyes were playing tricks on him, just like they had with the disappointingly-not-gold button. Nope. With mounting horror, Rory looked about frantically, but there wasn’t a rainbow in the sky anymore either. Both the rainbow and his pot of gold were gone.

If he hadn’t been fixated on the shiny, “not-gold” button, Rory would have noticed that his rainbow had been fading from view. He would have stayed with his pot of gold and gone with it somewhere else—wherever it was now. But he hadn’t, and now he had no idea where the rainbow and his pot of gold were.

All he knew was that he was stranded here in some forest glade, left with nothing. Well, next to nothing. He still held onto that shiny, “not-gold”, brass button. It was clenched in his fist, and for a moment, Rory considered hurling it away from him into the depths of the forest, ne’er to be seen again. But then he really would be left with nothing.

So, Rory miserably put the button in his pocket, found a suitable stone, and sat down to cry. He had a lot of emotions that he was suddenly experiencing, and he didn’t like any of them—not one bit. He was having a hard time processing them all.

This was quite understandable—seeing as Rory had just lost everything that he held dear to him in the blink of an eye. Well, he had blinked three times, if you recall, but still. That was a lot to handle. What do you do when the thing you’ve held onto your whole life—the thing you’ve put all your confidence and trust in—what do you do when that thing is snatched away? I hope you’d find some healthy way of coping with your sudden and unexpected loss. Maybe see a therapist or take up a hobby.

Rory did neither of those. For one, at the time of our story, the occupation of a “therapist” hadn’t been invented yet, and any “head” doctors in Rory’s day and age were likely to prescribe some rather unorthodox way of dealing with his troubles—in what would most likely get the doctor up to his neck in a malpractice lawsuit in our day and age. For another thing, Rory didn’t have any hobbies. He didn’t believe they were any benefit to one’s well-being. But I digress.

Rory faced his sudden and unexpected loss by sitting on that suitable stone—though it wasn’t as nice as sitting on his pot of gold—and cried. Rory cried for a very long time. He could have kept crying for even longer than he did, but I’ve got a story to tell, so for the sake of brevity, Rory eventually stopped crying.

Sniffling, he wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his sleeve and looked around. The shadows in the forest glade were lengthening. Somewhere in all of his tears, the sun had set, oblivious to his pain—or perhaps it had fled, uncomfortable at the sight of a leprechaun crying. So Rory thought—but that’s foolish, as you and I well know. The sun set because it had been up all day. It was tired and wanted to go to bed. Quite understandable when you think about it.

With no pot of gold, Rory didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he wanted his pot of gold back more than anything in the world, and he would do whatever it took to get it back. But on the other hand, he hadn’t the faintest clue of where to begin even looking. It wasn’t like he could chase after every rainbow in sight. He’d never find his rainbow that way. Not to mention the fact that it’d be extremely tiresome.

Rory weighed his options. He could keep crying—which would be terrible for our story’s sake—or he could curl up and sleep in this forest glade. That wouldn’t solve his problems or help him figure out what to do next, but perhaps he’d figure it all out tomorrow. Perhaps he’d fall asleep and wake up to find that this had all been a terrible dream and that he was still sitting on his pot of gold. Perhaps.

Mercifully, it was not just a dream. That ending wouldn’t be much of a satisfying conclusion to this story, now would it? Rory wouldn’t have learned anything, and you’d have wasted the past however-many minutes of your life reading about something that didn’t actually happen.

Regardless, Rory piled up some fallen leaves into a makeshift—albeit crunchy—pillow, closed his eyes, and tried to fall asleep. He was cold, tired, sad, hungry, and worst of all—pot-of-goldless. Altogether, that made him downright miserable.

His stomach grumbled at him, complaining at the terrible situation they currently found themselves in, and Rory couldn’t argue with it. He knew. This was no one’s fault but his own.

That was an important realization for him. All of his life, Rory had made excuses, shifting the blame to others. But in this situation, he had no one to blame but himself. Well, technically, that wasn’t true. He could blame the brass button that tricked him—but that’d be absurd—or he could blame the person who lost the brass button in the first place, but he had no idea who or where they were. Besides, it wasn’t their fault he left his pot of gold. That was the choice he made, and now Rory was trying to fall asleep on a pile of leaves.

He would have done so too—if not for the sudden sounds of leaves crunching underfoot, and the soft mutterings of an old woman as she walked into the forest glade. She had graying hair and wore large glasses. A crooked, pointed hat was atop her head, and a homespun shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. She held a walking stick in one hand. By her dress and appearance, Rory figured she was a witch. That was an unfair assumption to make. You shouldn’t make such judgments about people based on their clothes—or at all, really—but in this case, Rory was right. She was a witch.

Rory froze, motionless. Perhaps she wouldn’t see him.

“What’s this? Who’s that there in the leaves?” The old woman stopped a few feet away from him and leaned on her walking stick. She sounded amused.

Stubbornly, Rory still held onto the delusion that if he remained motionless, she would figure her eyes were playing tricks on her and go away.

The old woman sighed in exasperation. “Little leprechaun, are you really going to try sleeping there all night?”

Rory scrambled to his feet, sending leaves scattering in all directions. He backed away from the old woman, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Now, Rory knew she was a witch. Well, again, he was making a calculated assumption, but still. Normal people couldn’t tell he was a magical leprechaun just by looking at him. Only those with magic themselves could tell that sort of thing.

The old woman just stood there. Seeing his apprehension, she sighed again. “Calm yourself, child. I can see that you don’t have your pot of gold—any fool could see that. Besides, even if you did have it, I wouldn’t want it. I have no need for gold.”

No need for gold? Rory couldn’t believe his ears. To him, that was like remarking, “Hey, breathing air isn’t all that important for me to stay alive.” But remember, Rory had misconceptions when it came to gold. He thought it was the most important thing in the world.

“Then what do you want from me?” Rory asked suspiciously.

“Me. Want something from you?” the old woman laughed. “Dearie, I don’t want anything from you. But if you’d like a warm bed and a hot meal—which you look like you could use, by the way—you’re welcome to come back to my cottage. It’s not far from here.”

Warning bells clanged in Rory’s mind—so much so that if they weren’t metaphorical, they’d have given him quite the headache. All the stories Rory had heard of witches luring victims to cottages in the forest came to mind at the old woman’s invitation. He’d only heard two, to be exact, but even two such stories were more than enough for Rory—as I’m sure you can understand.

Some of his wariness must have shown on his face because the old woman shrugged unconcernedly and began walking away from Rory back into the forest. “Follow if you wish,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s your choice.”

Rory hesitated, watching her leave. Indecision warred within him. He was terrified that the old woman would do something nefarious—like throwing him in a cauldron and making leprechaun stew—but he was also cold, tired, hungry, and altogether miserable. The prospect of a hot meal and a warm place to sleep at night won out. Even if there was a chance the witch intended to harm him, well, what more could he lose?

Rory got up from his leaf pile and hurried after the old woman as she led him deeper into the forest. He trailed behind her. At first, Rory didn’t know if she knew he was even following her. Then, she spoke.

“I’m Agatha. What’s your name, little leprechaun?”

“Rory.”

Agatha smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Rory.”

He didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever been pleased to meet him before. Perhaps that had something to do with him not being the most approachable of folk and turning away anyone who asked him for help. And yet, Agatha seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. Rory wondered at that.

The rest of Rory and Agatha’s journey passed in silence. The darkness grew like a shadow over the face of the earth, yet Agatha led Rory through the forest without hesitation. It wasn’t long before a small cottage came into view, just like Agatha had promised. Rory didn’t think it looked much like a witch’s cottage—or how he expected such an abode to look.

Agatha’s cottage was quaint. It was made of brick and stone, with a thatched grass roof. A goat grazed on the roof and bleated a nonchalant greeting as Rory and Agatha came into view. Then the goat went back to munching.

Agatha waved cheerfully at the goat; it paid her no mind. “That’s Gertrude,” she told Rory. “She’s my guard goat.”

“Er, what do you need a guard goat for?”

Agatha shrugged. “Nothing, really, but I’m fond of alliteration, and Gertrude likes to feel useful, bless her heart.”

With that, Agatha fished in her sweater pocket for a brass key and unlocked her front door. She hobbled inside. Rory followed after her. Gertrude remained on the roof, unperturbed.

The interior of Agatha’s cottage wasn’t what Rory expected either. It was warm and homey. Agatha snapped her fingers, and embers crackled to life in the fireplace with a WHOOSH. Rory jumped. Agatha just chuckled.

“No reason to be alarmed, dearie.”

She took off her shawl and hung it on a peg by the front door. She waved Rory over to a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace. “Sit. Supper will be ready shortly.” Then she moved over to her counter and snapped her fingers again.

Rory watched from the couch, fascinated, as the cottage came alive. A broom swept the floor as a black cauldron tumbled through the air, landing on a hook over the burning embers. A stream of water, a pinch of salt, and some other spices all floated into the cauldron. At the counter, several knives began chopping vegetables by themselves. It filled the cottage with a faint staccato beat. Then, the vegetables went into the pot as well. Carrots, peas, onions, potatoes, and beans.

Agatha dusted off her hands and made her way over to an armchair across from the couch. “That’s that.” She sat down and began to knit, humming quietly to herself. Without looking up at him, Agatha said, “So, Rory, what brings you to my neck of the woods—have you lost something?”

Rory was still trying to recover from seeing a cottage come alive with magic. Understand, that wasn’t something he saw every day. Or ever, in fact. Agatha’s question was a bit obvious if you think about it. After all, what do you normally associate with a leprechaun that wasn’t with Rory at the moment?

Deciding that Agatha didn’t intend to cook and eat him, Rory told her everything that had happened to him. How he’d been sitting in the forest glade on his pot of gold and had gotten off. How his rainbow had disappeared. How it had left without him—and consequentially, his pot of gold left him as well. How his pot of gold was the most important thing in the whole wide world to him. How Rory had no idea how to find it. At that point, Rory started to cry all over again, feeling quite sorry for himself.

After a moment, Agatha got up. During his story, she had listened quietly, knitting. Now, she walked over and sat next to him on the couch. Putting her arm around him, she let Rory simply cry. And she held him.

Rory almost stopped crying purely out of shock. He had never had someone show him such kindness before. He couldn’t think of a time when he had ever felt so… loved. And Agatha was a complete stranger. He had just met her—not even an hour ago! Why was she being so kind to him? Sniffling, Rory asked Agatha just that.

The old woman thought about the question for a long time. Finally, she spoke. “I’ve lived a long life, child. A long life seeking after power. Magic tends to do that to a person. And I’ve used my magic to do great and terrible things. I’ve caused earthquakes, made mountains erupt with fire and brimstone, the seas to surge, and the heavens to hurl down lightning and rain. I was feared—yes, feared—by all. Many brave knights and even other magicians sought to overthrow me. They could not.”

Rory tensed at the old woman’s words. Perhaps she was a wicked witch after all.

But Agatha went on. “That was a long time ago now. In my quest for more and more power, I couldn’t see what I was doing to other people—how I was hurting them.”

She turned to Rory with a serious look on her face. He shivered. Agatha seemed older then. Older than even the trees of the forest.

“I learned that if you seek after power, if you make that your focus—the most important thing in the whole wide world—it will never be enough. You will always want more.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Rory asked.

Agatha smiled. “You asked me why I was showing you kindness. I’m getting there. I didn’t come to that all on my own. It took a conversation with someone else to finally realize the truth. You remind me of myself in a way. Perhaps that’s partially why I invited you over for supper.

“My dear, little leprechaun. If you make your pot of gold the most important thing in the world—if you chase after wealth thinking that more and more of it will bring you happiness, it won’t. It will only consume you, leaving you bitter and empty—even if you have all the wealth in the world. It will drive other people away from you—people who might care for you and even love you—and you’ll be left all alone. Sometimes, it will even leave you without that which you sought. That’s no way to live. Take it from an old woman who’s tried that way of life.”

Agatha sighed and shook her head tiredly. “Power, wealth—these are not bad things to pursue. But they cannot be your main focus. They cannot be what’s most important. Rather, what you use such things for—who you use such things for—try focusing on them, Rory. If you have wealth, use it to help others who don’t. If you have power, use it to help the weak. It doesn’t have to be big or extravagant. It can be a small, ordinary kindness—such as sharing a warm meal with a friend.”

Agatha snapped her fingers again. Two bowls and spoons floated over to her and Rory. Soup from the cauldron filled them; steam rose, and the aroma made Rory’s mouth water. His stomach rumbled appreciatively.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Rory was overwhelmed as he sat there in that old witch’s cottage, holding a warm bowl of vegetable soup. Agatha’s words cut him to his very core. She had described him and his way of life perfectly. He had made his pot of gold the one focus of his life. In doing so, he had driven so many people away. People who might have cared for him, or even loved him. He’d been led to believe that gold was the most important thing in the world. Certainly, gold was more important than people.

According to Agatha, it wasn’t. Hearing her life experiences and choices led Rory to question his own. Was this really the sort of life he wanted for himself? A life of bitter emptiness? He could chase after his missing rainbow and pot of gold his whole life, but once he found it, what then? It wouldn’t bring him happiness.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling with all of this. He couldn’t just let go of all he once held dear—all he once thought to be true—just like that. No, that sort of monumental change took time.

Agatha’s question weighed on his mind. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

“I think I’m beginning to,” Rory said.

Agatha nodded. “Then that is enough, my dear little leprechaun. That is enough.”

And it was. For now. After all, this is a short story. Change takes time. Certainly more time than a few pages can provide. But it all started here.

Once, there was a leprechaun named Rory who lost his rainbow. It turned out to be the best thing that could have ever happened to him. In losing his rainbow—and consequentially his pot of gold—Rory was able to have a meaningful conversation with an old witch named Agatha. An old witch who—in time—became his very first and dearest friend.

No, Rory didn’t have his rainbow or his pot of gold anymore. He hadn’t the faintest idea of where they even were. To his surprise, Rory found that he didn’t care. Inwardly, he hoped that someone had stumbled across them and was now putting his gold to good use. Regardless, Rory had no intention of going off and looking for it. He was right where he wanted to be. He had found what was really important.

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