By Ian Watts
Ego was out walking with Id and Superego again. Those two were gregarious fellows, backslapping types. They led him up the street, flanking him, one to each arm. In either ear they chattered and chirped, nattered and nickered. He’d be tugged to the left – “Look there!” Id’s bellow was rich, dark, wine-red. “Lust and abandon, fury and self-indulgence!” Then, tugged to the right – “And down the road!” Superego barked, joyful, like a herding dog rounding the flock. “Guilt and contrition, shame and regret!” Id protested (always). Superego insisted (just as often). Ego did not speak, only ever listened. He might have refused to walk along, but he was not so sure in his footing. He might have walked another way, but he’d not strength enough in his legs. He did not know the way there, could not remember where they’d begun. And he was just so tired. So, he let himself be led.
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