The End

They were plotting against me. Again. It was time for this to come to an end.

Watching from the edge of the platform, I could see the six of them standing there. His agents, dressed as they always were, in an innocuous melange. They were tall and small, all the same age, but blending in.

If I hadn't known they were after me, they would have looked like anyone else. I'd learned to interpret the signs, the seemingly casual gestures, the signals to the other Watchers and Plotters. They were after me; my cover was blown.

Adjusting my gloves, I prepared to make my move. They'd followed me in here, but I was sure they hadn't spotted me yet. My silver crucifix concealed me from their penetrating gaze.

I slid behind two of them as the train approached, swirling papers that had fallen to the tracks. The largest and the smallest, the brain and the brawn, the most dangerous of the six. If I could eliminate them, I'd be safe. The others would be too confused without their hive control to make a move.

Timing was to be crucial. I took a deep breath, adjusted my position. I am ready.

I shove the largest one, and he tumbles to the track. Quickly, I switch targets and shoulder the smallest onto the track. One of the other Watchers reaches out to catch the small one's elbow.

The train brakes screech. The Watchers scream. I push my way through the crowd, melting through as I've practiced so many times.

Panic erupts, and I ride the wave of passengers exiting the station. The route is plotted, and has been practiced many times. I run up the alley and across two yards, euphoria fueling me as my chest heaves.

Across the park, through the parking lot, and over the fence that separates the school from the street. Soon I will be safe. I throw my hat into a trash can behind the school.

Footfalls pound behind me. I'm being followed. I must shake this tail.

I don't dare glance behind. My lungs are burning. I can't breathe.

The world slants sideways. I crash to the ground. One of them is on top of me.

I am theirs. Undone. It is ended.

An Open Letter to My Sanity

Dear Impulse Control:

I just wanted to send you this short thank you note for all the work that you do day in and day out. It's not an easy job, to be sure, but I know Face appreciates how often you keep Mouth in check. The fact that we've only be hit a dozen or so times is a testament to your skill. We all know that Mouth is a handful.

Also, thank you for keeping control of Humour, especially his tendancy to tell jokes. We've all reviewed your helpful memo on when Jesus jokes are not appropriate (church, funerals, the subway, before everyone but the hardcore cynics have been put to bed).

We also reviewed the helpful memo about singing in public, and the fact that reworking lyrics to pop songs to be more suggestive or filthy is not appropriate at Wal-Mart. I know that Justin Timberlake is not singing about *my* sexy back, that Crabs is not an appropriate substitution for Fab, and that it is not alright to sing Hey Mr Vaseline Man, grab some lube for me. These are not appropriate song re-imaginings, especially in a public setting, just as 'hey shit-for-brains move your cart' is not an appropriate substitute for 'excuse me please, kind sir who is blocking the entire bloody aisle with your cart and behind while you debate the merits of chunky versus smooth peanut butter'. Even though the first is more succint and efficient.

But please know that we all love and appreciate you, no matter what. That being said, there's been a couple of lapses recently that have started to concern us all.

Let's just say that we're getting quite concerned about how close Hand comes to checking the element on the stove to see if it's on. There's no reason for Hand to touch the element, but there's been a couple of close calls recently. I don't think that we need to experience second degree burns to know that they hurt. This also applies to dishwater.

There's been an alarming increase in escapes by Mouth. The reply to someone's question as to why they can't figure their syllabus for Intro to Calculus should not have been a 'because you're an idiot' mumbled nowhere as near under our breath as it should have been. While 'I didn't ask for your attitude' fairly begged for a response, and while 'We didn't ask for yours either' was entirely appropriate, it really wasn't necessary, and certainly didn't add anything positive to the situation. I understand that it can be tiring constantly being on your guard, and that you catch more than you miss, but we are all concerned (especially Face) that Mouth is going to get us hurt one of these days.

Liver would also like to have a few words with you though, especially about the tequilla. My theory is that you're allergic to alcohol, which is why you are nowhere to be found when the bottle comes out. This can create uncomfortable situations for us all, especially Stomach when she has to turn herself inside out, and Inner Ear, when he can no longer tell up from down as the room seems to be spinning. Just keep in mind that it would be nice if you could man up every once in a while when a bottle comes out.

All in all though, great job.

Love,

Me