“Duck! Duck!”, my mind swirls back to when I was five years old sitting cross-legged in a circle with other squirming, jittering kids. This simple game gave me such anxiety, always hoping not to be the chosen one.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

I would silently pray to myself while the surrounding children were practically bursting at the seams for their chance at a glorifying chase.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

Me, though fit, wanted nothing to do with the spotlight and the embarrassing trip and fall that could accompany it. The potential of ridicule far outweighed my wish to enthusiastically participate in the activity with the rest of the group.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

My conscious comes back to the present. I am not the same shriveling, pathetic thing I once was. No, today, I am in control. Nobody laughs here except for me.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

I slowly make my way around the dark, musty room, lightly trailing my fingers across shoulders as I stroll.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

Hearing the pitiful whimpers and feeling the involuntary shudders brings a contented smile to my scar-riddled face. The world will soon know of all the “games” we have played over the years.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

“Duuuuuck.... duuuuck... duuck.. duck!”, I start circling faster, excitement building inside for it is MY time to shine.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

Suddenly, I slam to a stop and kneel down in front of my designated “bird” of the day.

“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”

“Goose.”, I say calmly, almost rationally.