There is a pack of wild thoughts that lives in my head. I catch glimpses of it from time to time, drinking from the stream of consciousness down by my cerebellum, or running through the canyons of my frontal lobe. The pack is comprised of eight full-grown thoughts, of which I used to be terribly afraid––that is, until, by long hours of spying and writing what I observed, I found their only aim was my best interest. And I've come to see that were it not for them, my mind would be overrun with vermin.
Over time, I've given each of the pack-members names, drawn pictures of them in my journals, written so extensively of their traits and habits that I could introduce them to a stranger one by one should the opportunity present itself, I know the eight so well.
But there is a ninth thought in this pack of wild thoughts, and I can only assume he is the alpha thought, since he often appears alone and seems not to depend on the strength of numbers. Though I have never seen him, I imagine him to be a massive specimen, silver-grey with the distinction of time. Unlike the other thoughts, this one I fear and always will. He is nothing like the rest of the pack, and when I stumble upon signs of him, I feel small. He is predictably unpredictable. Of this I'm sure, though––the pack depends on the alpha thought. And the alpha thought's name is... "Good".
