A/N: I know this particular theme can be used for nearly any modern time TV show, but I just watched Psych so I was in that kind of mood. You know how it is. Maybe I should write this story for every TV show I know...
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. Thing would suck if I did.
Shawn sat in his office, his feet up on his desk, inspecting a fist-sized stress ball that he had been tossing from hand to hand. He squeezed it so it looked like a thin sliver of blue cloth, and watched as it slowly puffed back out. When it was done it looked like he had never done anything to it in the first place.
He wondered how many people in the world were stress balls. Squeezed so tight they thought they would die, then recover so quickly and so ultimately that it's like they'd forgotten it had even happened. Probably zero. Or one. Very possibly one.
He tossed it to his other hand, then back again. He squeezed it and watched it inflate. Stress balls, he thought, were the ultimate symbol of human life. Everyone wants to be a stress ball. To be able to heal so quickly from anything. Emotionally, physically, and even mentally. If life were a stress ball, everyone would be happy.
He squeezed it with both hands, as hard as he could. It looked like a millimeter-thick pipe cleaner when he was done. He held it with two fingers. It stayed as it was for a very long time. He wondered if it would ever recover, if his stress ball understanding was going to be turned upside-down.
But then he noticed it get puffier. It started to get wider. Before long it was perfectly round, not a wrinkle on it. He stared at it in awe.
If only he were a stress ball. He saw corpses, nearly every day, and never really thought about them. Only when he was alone, like he was now, and completely bored, like he was now, would he really think about death. All those people he had seen, dead, and nothing he could do to save them. The best thing he could do is act like they're alive. Or asleep. And very cold. He had to pretend they were asleep and liked to be very cold. Unnaturally cold. He had to pretend to be a stress ball every day.
Didn't everyone?
The phone rang suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts. He reached over and answered the call without changing his position. It was Juliet. There was yet another murder case. He said he'd be right there, and hung up.
He suddenly felt envious of the stress ball. Yes, it did get squished and squeezed and stepped on and thrown often, but it recovered soon after, every time. Forgive and forget, it seemed to say. Plus, it helped people. In its own way, it helped make the world a better place. How many people have squeezed a stress ball instead of punching someone in the face? He knew he had, at least once.
The door opened and he looked up as he saw Gus enter the room. He sighed, taking his feet down from his desk and replacing them with his toy. Time to start acting like a stress ball again.
A/N: Random thought from a random person. Your imagination is left to decide: who is that random person? Oooh, I bet you're stumped now.