They Are Coming

I can hear them digging their way through the roof, clawing at the tar-infused shingles, ripping and tearing their way through the felt paper, scrabbling at the woody particle board. In time, they will break through, and all of my careful plans will go for naught as they beat down the doors, or force their way through the walls and into my head, scurrying into the darkest recesses of my brain, hiding in the gray-matter folds, tickling and tricking the dendrites to make me forget they are even there, that it’s all my fault, but I know, I know their ways, how they fool me into doing their bidding, waiting for me to slip up, and all it takes is a single wire, coiled copper, wrapped around the nodes and neurons, reshaping my mind. They are coming, and they’ll be here soon.