Excuse Me

Part nineteen of the Foolish Games series. Lyrics by Poe.

"Oz . . ."

Oz looked up from his the book he wasn't reading and the impossiblely-so-but-undeniably small notes he had borrowed from a classmate the day before. He grunted an incomprehensible note of attention at Willow.

"A terrible thought has moved into my mind."

Well that was certainly more intriguing than . . . He pulled out his Swiss Army knife and searched for a magnifying glass. No luck there. "Will, do you have a magnifying glass?"

"Um, no. I borrowed a microscope from the lab though. Can you use that?"

Half an hour, one visit to the copy machine, a pair of safety scissors -- "borrowed" in the college sense of the word -- and a Band-Aid later he could indeed. Willow had helped him cut the notes into little strips, then suggested they be numbered to better keep the order. Halfway through what had once had been the first page, Oz began to regret missing that particular class.

"It's . . .It's . . . It's a giant rat nibbling on my pride."

Oz looked up. "The terrible thought?

Willow nodded. "It's tearing away my patience and my wit," she said with a frown.

Reading through the blown up notes, and noting that he had accidentally shed some skin cells on them, he commented "Well you must take proper measures to set a trap for it."

Willow took a deep breath. "I must stay calm, you know, and I must be clear."

"I could make you some tea," Oz suggested. Although, as he went to the kitchen, he wondered if he would ever fully regain his sight. "It's gonna take a hundred thoughts to make that one disappear," he called instead, from the kitchen.

"I know. A train like that could travel a soul for years," Willow fretted

"A terrible thought could have a terribly long career," Oz agreed.

"What a terrible thought," she said glumly. "But this is good tea," she said, perking up for the first time. "Really good tea. Hey, my terrible thought's gone!"

Oz gently pried the cup out of Willow's hand. He looked down at the grains of crushed leaves and swirled them around experimentally.

"Oz, what are you doing?"

"Just contemplating it's properties on microscopic handwriting."

Finn[ish]