Author's Note: I cannot express enough gratitude to all those who have reviewed, encouraging me on. Don't mind this last little chapter, it's just a tiny little epilogue that I just couldn't figure out how to do and finally decided to just put up for the sheer purpose of saying that I'm done. Thanks again to everyone.


The brain is actually a very unromantic organ. In spite of all the attempts to exaggerate its internal conflicts, to dramatize its power, it really is nothing more than just a gross, slimy organ. That we do not yet fully understand the processes by which the brain carries out the functions that it does is the only remarkable feature of the brain.

But cast all that aside, and imagine, if you will, the mind to be an ocean. At the surface are our thoughts and our recent memories. Here is where our concerns bubble? Do we look good in this outfit? Did we lock the front door this morning? The concerns and cares that take us through day after day are here.

Going a little deeper, our problems and memories become more and more in depth. Thoughts and concerns covering months, and years go deeper and deeper.

At the very, very bottom, deeper than most of us care to go, we find something more. More memories, most of which we're not even aware of. Some of these memories have simply drifted down here after so long, while other have been left here, almost buried completely.

But there is something else. Some thing that we keep kept away here. You could imagine it as a box, though describing it would be a waste, for it's not really a box. It simply performs the same function as a box, to keep things in for store.

Most of us can't see our box, or choose not to. Often, when we open our box, we are so horrified by what we see that we close it and run away, leaving it where is, pretending that it's not there, and that we never looked inside. A few open the box, and allow what is inside out to run rampant. And there are a few, just a few of us, who can look inside their box, see what is contained within, and still have the strength to simply close their box back up, and without denying its exsistence, simply leave the box and its contents to lie where it is.

Imagine if we could, for just one moment, peak inside one such box. Inside it, we can see a blue skinned madman, his eyes filled with sinister delight, his expression one of sheer madness as he cackles.

"I've been in here before," he says "and I got out. I'll get out again. I always do."

The End