Oh, The Places You'll Go


One of our socks is missing

"Where's my other sock?"

"I dunno, Casey. Where you left it?"

Casey put on his patient, yes-thank-you-for-stating-the-obvious-Danny voice.

"Good point. However, as you ripped my clothes off in record time last night and threw them to all points of the compass, I'm struggling with my sock location technique."

"Sock location technique?"


"And that would be...?"

"Looking in the place where I left it."


"Yes, indeed."

Casey continued to hunt until a choking noise from Dan made him turn round. Dan was pointing silently at the ceiling, shaking with soundless laughter. Casey's eyes followed Dan's finger.

"Ah. Mystery solved."

Silent Night

In dark silence Dan sits. If he stays still long enough he might catch one of the half-formed thoughts shooting fleetingly and unremittingly through his brain. And if he succeeds, then perhaps he can worry it into a whole, a catalyst for others that maybe, just maybe, will help him understand why he can't seem to get life right.

Through the door Casey watches. He sees shadows of unfinished thoughts flitting across Dan's face and understands that as well as he knows this man there are parts of him that are forever a mystery, unreachable. He sighs and turns away.

Actions are words

No matter where life takes him, Sam can't stay. He arrives, he fixes, he leaves, but to stay is a verb he does not allow into his life. Verbs that Sam does apply to himself are: to succeed, to win, to long, to care, to attach, to fear change, to react, to move on, to run.

He sees confusion in Dana's eyes and wishes she could understand why he is who he is, but Sam can't use the verbs to explain, to hold on, to trust, to love, to give himself. No matter where life takes him, Sam can't stay.

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