Short Man Syndrome (Topic: Little Things)
Helmeppo watched as midnight came and passed and still Coby was awake under his futon and a torch, engrossed in a paperback tome.
"What you reading that's so fascinating?"
"The Philosophy of War," said Coby, holding up a book written by a professor with countless initials after his name.
"Does any part of you ever get any rest?" asked Helmeppo contemptuously, "I can't say I've seen many fatigued Fleet Admirals lately."
"I think it's just as important to exercise one's mind as well as one's body," retorted Coby, "Not that you'd know anything about that."
"That's rubbish; I have a very tactical mind and loads of poignant and intelligent thoughts about life too."
Silence. Coby was distracted from his book by the look on Helmeppo's face – a pained expression that indicated that his philosophical cogs might just have creaked into life.
"See with you… it's because you're short," came the eventual revelation.
"What?"
"You work so hard 'cause you've got Short Man Syndrome. It's the insecurity of training around someone so tall that you just can't help but feel you have to measure up to me."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
Coby sighed, stood up and pulled back the cover of Helmeppo's futon.
"You know," he said, sliding in next to him, "Being short has its advantages. We can conserve energy and space in one bed and leave plenty of room for equipment. Perhaps we could try it out next time we're at sea?"
"Uh, yeah," said Helmeppo, trying to mimic Coby's pragmatic tone and failing. Having nothing more philosophical to add, (or anything else to say full stop) Coby felt that he had proved his point and got back into his own bed, secretly smiling at how Helmeppo was so red-faced that he almost served as a reading light.