Wrote this for a fanfic challenge on LiveJournal. The parameters were "100-1000 words about a truth and a lie." This is what I came up with...enjoy. -----

I am not crazy.

That is the truth.

Or is it a lie?

Naughty children tell lies. Am I naughty?

It's near Christmas. Charcoal in the stocking for naughty children. Santa knows who is naughty and who is nice. Pretty lights. I can sketch with charcoal. Draw portraits. Drew a portrait of Simon once.

...Simon?

A needle. Hypodermic. Used to transfer liquids from the ampoule to the patient. Sometimes medicine, sometimes poison. Inspires phobia in small children. Maybe they know about poison? Needle in my arm. Am I sick?

...I am not crazy...

"River?"

I blink. Thoughts coming into focus, becoming coherent, myopic eyes suddenly given a pair of glasses.

Simon is here. He is looking at me, a hopeful expression on his face.

I have to smile back. Slowly. Hesitantly. Worried that it will turn into the hysteria that comes over me all too easily. But the hysteria is gone. Receded. Like the tide.

It will be back. But for now the moon (medicine?) has pulled it away.

"Simon. Good morning."

"Good morning, mei mei. It's almost time for breakfast. Do you want to eat with the crew?"

Breakfast. First meal of the day. Comes from "breaking fast." To stop fasting and partake of life-giving food.

I giggle, if for no other reason than because I can follow my thoughts. No, I can always follow my thoughts. But for now I can articulate. Reason. Clarify. Express myself.

"Yes. I would like breakfast. Do we have any eggs?"

He shakes his head, looks disappointed. Doesn't realize I was joking. "No, just the usual protein -" He stops when he hears my laughter, and slowly smiles. "You *are* a brat." He takes my hand, turns to leave, leading me along towards our food, animals doing what we need to survive.

I want to tell him. Tell him what he means to me. Tell him how much I appreciate what he's done, what he's lost, what he continues to do. Tell him how happy I am here. Tell him how he's given me more life than the food.

I stop, tugging on his hand. "Simon?"

He looks over his shoulder at me, an eyebrow raised.

I try to phrase what I want to say, and then give up. Nobody can capture love in a phrase. Even someone with an IQ of 500.

Instead I look at him. Through him. Into him. My eyes are shining. I reach for him, and he hugs me.

He understands. I can see it in him. He knows.

I am not crazy.

I love my brother.