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Hate-Mail of a Sort

"Hurry up, Mordecai!" Rigby shouted across the hall. He was, at this point, undoubtedly annoyed that Mordecai was intentionally walking as slow as molasses.

However, Mordecai was somewhat oblivious to this fact. He was, indeed, intentionally walking slow. But he was thinking, at a high-speed rate, about his seemingly meaningful dream last night. This dream, in particular, was not a happy one. It just wasn't.

He did, however, like the fact that he was playing video games in it. It may have had no comparison to video games in reality, but there was an added bonus: he was playing with Margaret. And she was beating him rather badly, actually. He seemed to be surprised at the time. When did Margaret start playing video games, anyway? Even though that question went unanswered for now, he didn't really bother with it. Doing anything (that wouldn't end their friendship, or the world for that matter) with Margaret was good enough for him.

Then a thought knocked on his mind's door. Mind opened the door and smiled.

"Oh, hello, Thought," said Mind, strong British accent kicking in.

"G'day to ya, Mind," said Thought, rather quickly, Australian accent kicking in. He was, basically, a cloud. A cloud with several images floating around and inside of him. There were all sorts of things that you could see in the images: goals, dreams, choices, decisions and ideas. None of which that Mind could recognize at the time. Thought also wore a flat hat, made from straw. It had a red ribbon around it.

"No, not at all," said Mind.

"No, no," said Thought, "I said 'good day TO you, Mind'."

"Oh," said Mind, "well, good day to you, too, Thought. But I still don't mind, you know. Uhm, where's Memory?"

"Oh, she's here, too."

A much smaller cloud walked out from behind Thought. She looked about the age of a four-year-old. She had a cute little pink bow on top of her. She simply stood beside Thought and smiled politely.

"Don't you know how to talk?" Mind asked.

Memory just hid behind Thought again. Thought leaned over, touched Mind's shoulder, and whispered, "She doesn't know, she only remembers, remember?"

"No, I only know, remember?" Mind whispered back.

"No, I only think, remember?"

"No," said Mind, "How do you know she doesn't know how to talk?"

"Because I'm touching your shoulder," said Thought, "and because I think Conscious isn't focused on trying to remember how to talk right now."

"Right," Mind was now enlightened, "that would explain it."

"Yes, uhmmm," said Thought, "Oh, great!" he threw his hat on the floor, "Now I don't remember what I came here for!"

Memory gasped and quickly grabbed Thought's right hand. Thought looked down at Memory, confused. She pointed at two posters that were in his other hand, and then at Mind.

"Ah, yes!" said Thought, "Thanks, Morie."

She was undoubtedly tired of that saying. She could still stand 'Oh, yeah' and maybe a 'That's right' every now and again, but 'Ah, yes' was said a large amount of times in way to many movies and TV shows that Conscious made her watch. It kept giving her headaches. So, she was, quite literally, sick of it. But being called 'Morie' was pretty cool, in her opinion. So, she just smiled at Thought as if she was just being helpful, and she was.

But once Thought looked away, towards Mind, she just rolled her eyes.

"I think I have something for you," he said, "if I remember correctly."

Memory rolled her eyes again.

"I know," said Mind. This time, both, Thought and Memory, rolled their eyes. Mind sighed. They were all definitely getting tired of their jobs. Even though Memory was only about four, she had been around for close to how long Thought and Mind had. She had only started aging more frequently after the Master got a job at this odd park. This was simply because there were more memorable events happening.

"Well," said Mind, "what is it?"

Thought then handed him the two posters he was holding. "Don't you know?" said Thought.

"Not this time," said Mind, "but it wouldn't be the first time. I only know the things that...well, that I know."

"Oh," said Thought, "well, the one with the Master's face on it has a meter below the face. It is supposed to represent the Master's level of fun, or excitement. And the one with the Master's lady friend's face is supposed to remind you be concerned with her level, also. That is why it has a question mark under her face," Thought pointed at the question mark under Margaret's face.

Mind looked at the two posters for a few seconds, then smiled.

"This was very-"

"Thoughtful is me job, mate," said Thought, looking proud, but somewhat annoyed. His job was just as old as Mind's.

"I know," said Mind. He was always getting frustrated with everyone telling him things he already knew. "Well, thank you."

"No problem," said Thought as he started to walk off with Memory, "just thought it would be a good idea."

"Bye," said Mind as he closed the door.

Back in the no-so-real reality, they were still playing video games.

From Mordecai's point of view, there was a flash of several different colors as Margaret beat him for about the hundredth time. He looked over at Margaret and then asked, "Hey, Margaret," she looked over at him, "are you still having fun with this game?"

Margaret looked back over at the TV screen, put the controller down, and sighed. "It is getting kinda boring," she said.

There came a flash from the TV. They were both then sucked into the TV and left falling down the side of a cliff. They were falling face-first. Mordecai looked to see and hear Margaret screaming as she fell. He reached out diligently to grab her hand and she did the same.

And in all that could've happened, nothing did. Literally, nothing. Cause that's when Mordecai woke up...in the middle of the floor.

Today he felt like he was being watched, hunted, stalked, spied on, or just anything in general that made him feel like someone was out to get him.

As he walked down the stairs of the park house, he was still somewhat in thought. He took a mis-step and tumbled tragically down the stairs, landing on his back at the bottom.

"OOF!"

As he stared at the ceiling, he came to a simple conclusion:

Someone was out to get him.