The Trouble with Thought

            As the three of them stood there, their eyes wandering about in the subway station ceiling, Moe thought to himself, “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.  Maybe this was a bad idea.”  He looked at his watch, but wondered why his last thought seemed so forced, because he didn’t feel like that at all.  Moe couldn’t have been more excited for their impending clubbing adventure.   Again he thought, “I could’ve been home, watching the Cheers marathon.”  Moe looked around wild eyed, “Cheers?  I’ve never liked that show.  What the hell is going on?”  Moe, I am the author of this story, so I’d appreciate it if you’d go along with what I write.  It makes things go a lot smoother.  “What the Fuck?!” Moe yelled.  His two friends looked at him, a bit startled.

“What’s that about Moe?” asked Wallace.

“I don’t know, but I just got the creepiest of feelings,” said Moe. “Said Moe?! Who are you…what are you?  How are you in my head?”  Moe’s friends started to get a bit scared because they knew Moe never tried to carry on a joke, because he had such a bad poker face.  “All right you guys, I’m really freaked out right now.  I think I may have some kind of split personality going on…something really serious, because I hear another voice in my head right now.” 

Wallace contemplated this and looked over at Chris, the third of their trio.  Unconvinced, he said to Moe, “This is pretty impressive Moe, I have to admit.  But no one who is honestly ‘crazy’, says stuff like that.  They just act crazy, and we don’t find out about the other voices until some gorillas in white jumpsuits hold them down until the doc finally gets them to cough it up.  Crazy people don’t just analyze their insanity like that.  Good try Moe, but your act needs some work.”

Moe almost protested this, but figured maybe it would go away or work itself out or something.  He didn’t notice, however, that Chris still looked very concerned about the whole situation.  Upon hearing the voice again, Moe turned to look at Chris, saw the look in his eyes, and started to really freak out.  Okay, Moe it seems that I’m losing my narrator's anonymity, and some of my words are coming out onto the paper in some other frequency or something, one that apparently only you can hear.  So for the rest of this story, you’re just going to have to pretend that you don’t hear me.  I know this may all be a little bit strange for you, knowing that you only exist in my imagination, but for the sake of the story, and even for the sake of your enjoyment of the rest of your limited story life, could you just pretend not to hear me for now on?  Shivers ran up and down Moe’s spine, and he sat down on a bench to try to regain control of reality.  Wallace laughed while Chris continued to stare.  The tracks rattled and the noise of the subway train started to echo off the walls until the doors of the train opened right in front of them.  The three sifted through the exiting passengers and found a few seats near the back.  Just as the doors started to close, the hooded figure called Tim made his move from the bench and slipped onto the train, fingering the safety, “off” on his pistol.  Moe, who by now, had decided that he would go along with this “voice” in hopes that it would go away if he indeed, did ignore it.  But upon hearing about these last words, Moe forgot about the absurdity of a “voice” in his head, because now life itself was on the line.  And the voice had said something about this being a story, so maybe it was all true.  Maybe he was a random character of the moment created only to get killed in some sick author’s plot.  So Moe figured himself, if not just crazy, at least crazy and lucky, considering most characters don’t receive hints from the author about their fates.  Moe heard this and smiled a twisted smile.  He eased himself up from his seat as this so-called “Tim” made his way from the doors towards Moe and his friends. 

“Tim!” Moe shouted, “It’s been such a long time!  How are you doing?”  Tim didn’t expect anything like this, and it caught him off guard.  He searched his memory frantically to make sure he wasn’t about to kill his childhood friend.  Moe was riding his adrenaline now, and reached out his hand to Tim. 

Tim thought, “Fuck, it can’t be Scotty Davies.  No, it can’t be.  They told me his name was Moe.  I have to do it though, there’s no other way to get out of the clan.” 

Of course Moe heard all this, and quickly yelled, “It’s Scotty! Don’t you remember, Scotty Davies!” 

Tim stood for a second, frozen.  Then he pulled the pistol out and shouted, “Scotty, they told me you did some bad shit.  I don’t want to have to do this but it’s my only way out.  I don’t have any other options!” 

Moe saw all the vindication he needed of his new reality and held up his hands, backing away slowly, “Tim they lied to you.  They’ve always been lying to you.  They’re sick and twisted.  They know you want out, so they’re making you kill your friend.  Don’t you see?”

“How do you know that?  I don’t know what you might’ve turned into after all these years!” Tim shouted, shoving the pistol into Moe’s chest.

            “I know…” Moe’s mind raced “because they did the same thing to me, but I escaped their game, and that’s why they sent you after me.”

            Throughout this entire dialogue, Wallace and Chris had turned white, seeing their own childhood friend become a stranger, no less a criminal of some kind.  Moe continued his negotiation, knowing that any rational thought could blow his cover and end it all right then, “Tim.  I can get you out of this.  Trust me.  I know the clan inside and out, just put the gun down.”

            Tim began to lower his pistol slowly, and shivers now ran down his back.  Moe looked up at the sound of the voice again, almost forgetting about how things had escalated so quickly.  He thought to himself, “I wonder if this is how you planned the story.”  Moe began thinking out his next move, how he could get he and his friends away from this “Tim” and wondered when the next stop was coming.  Suddenly, Tim was struck by a strange voice in his head, very clear and defined, depicting the scene at hand from the perspective of his old friend.

            “Moe?” Tim asked out loud, his nerves running wild.  “Why did he call you Moe, Scotty?”

            Moe went cold like the first time he heard the voice and thought, “Oh Fuck.”  Tim pulled his pistol back up but Moe knocked his arm as he shot, sending the bullet into Chris’s foot making him scream.

            There was a vicious struggle for control of the weapon.  The two kicked and wrestled down the aisle, as the train barreled on through the basement of the city, the next stop now only a few seconds away.  All the passengers blinked dumbly upon hearing a defined voice narrating the scene in front of them.  A few of them even made a break for the doors, their fear only making them more willing to trust mysterious voices.  The gun sprayed bullets into the ceiling and seats as Moe threw Tim to the ground.  Tim landed a kick on Moe’s chest and knocked him back.  He picked himself up and pointed the gun, again, at Moe.  At that moment, the doors to the subway car opened and I walked in clapping.

            “Bravo, my characters, I certainly couldn’t have done it without you. You see, you are all my creations, and I was just so pleased with how you all reacted to my accidental leaking of my narrator’s voice, so I had to come into the story and congratulate you myself…Seriously, Tim, put the gun down, don’t you recognize my voice?  I’m the author of the story that you are a character in…Tim? No, no, put the gun down!

            The shot rang out while the subway cars were still opened.  A silence like never before filled the station.  It wasn’t that Tim didn’t realize who he was.  He knew exactly who the man was, and he killed him, for toying with them all like puppets.  The narrator’s body lay still, blocking the door, which the rest of them exited out of, filled with the strangest feeling of freedom.  The man had broken the most coveted of narrator rules by entering into his own creation.  Ever since he showed up in our writing clan, I knew his arrogance would anger the other narrators, but I had no idea it would lead to something like this.