From One Tyrant To Another. That Is

She Can't Possibly Be Me, Though She Moves When I Move

Four Sits Down On The Edge Of The Carousel, Leaning Against A Plastic Horse's Foot. His Eyes Lift To The Sky, Where There Are No Stars, Only A Round Moon Peking Through A Thin Layer Of Clouds. The Muscles In His Arms Are Relaxed; His Hand Rests On The Back Of His Neck. He Looks Almost Comfortable, Holding That Gun To His Shoulder. I Close My Eyes Briefly. Why Does He Distract Me So Easily? I Need To Focus.

I Read Somewhere, One, That Crying Defies Scientific Explanation. Tears Are Only Meant To Lubricate The Eyes. There Is No Real Reason For Tear Glands To Overproduce Tears At The Behest Of Emotion. I Think We Cry To Release The Animal Parts Of Us Without Losing Our Humanity. Because Inside Of Me Is A Beast That Snarls, And Growls, And Strains Toward Freedom, Toward Tobias, And, Above All, Towards Life. And As Hard As I Try, I Cannot Kill It.

It's Like He Knows, He Knows I Have A Thing For Her.

You Won," Four Mutters. "stop." I Wipe The Sweat From My Forehead. He Stares At Me. His Eyes Are Too Wide; They Look Alarmed.