I'm not crazy. I promise.

“Pssst! Hey, Lady.”

I look around the office. No one here but me. I go back to writing. I love writing during my lunch break. I can go a million miles away without leaving my desk chair.

“Hey, you. With the pen.”

I point at myself using the pen. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. When do I get to tell my story? I heard those babies whining at you. That cowboy with his poor pitiful me, I killed somebody and don’t know what to do attitude and that stupid girl who thinks this is her story." The shadowy figure in my head rolls its eyes. "What the hell? Who do they think they are? Don’t they know this is my story?”

A door opens and closes. I lean out of my cubicle and peer around the corner. Oops, the boss is here and giving me that funny look. You know the one. The look that says she is wondering if she should call the guys in the white coats with the butterfly nets.

“Don’t ignore me. I deserve to be heard. After all, without me, there wouldn’t be a story.”

I peek around the corner. Yep, the boss is still watching me. Crikey! They already think I’m crazy. What are they gonna think when I start talking to my “imaginary friends”? “Look, whoever you are, can we talk about this later?”

“Yeah – no." The black hood of the sweatshirt starts to slip in response to the violent head shaking going on. Gloved hands grab it and pull it back up. "Aren’t you working on Prey right now?”

“Well, I was trying to before you interrupted me.”

“Tell me something. How can you work on my story if you won’t listen to me?”

Hmm, good point. Maybe I should have thought of that. How do I know whose story I am writing? How do I decide who I need to listen to? These characters are driving me crazy. “So, you think this is your story?”

“Well, duh. How can you have a murder mystery without a killer?”

As I start to respond a buzzer sounds in the distance. Uh-oh! Here comes the boss…