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A version of this story appeared in Total Annarchy, my fortnightly newsletter that helps you be a better writer, storyteller, marketer. Get it in your inbox; you’ll love it. * * * I sense I’m being watched. Followed. Stalked, almost. He’s quiet as a ninja. And like a ninja, he seems everywhere at once. Often I sense him before I see him. I think I’ve entered a room alone but then turn suddenly, and—yep—there he is: his silhouette in the doorway, backlit by the yellow hallway light. “Oh, hey. You good? Just keeping an eye on you.” It would be a little creepy, except for… well, look at him. Let’s start with his legs. They’re six inches long—too short to scale all the stairs to the second floor without needing a nap. He lies on the landing and cries. He might be part ninja. But at that moment he looks