You know that little "MW2 champion" thing I stuck to my signature? It's true. It was true. Once. I've still got the trophy, it's this tacky plastic rifle on a stand, gold-painted, and weighs less than a PS3 controller. What if I told you that the thing I have been talking about has been watching me the whole time?

So... I managed to dig up footage of that same tournament. 360s on folding tables. Energy drinks. Pizza grease and cheap carpet cleaner. The early 2010s as it was.

Back row of the audience, between the rows of metal folding chairs. Everyone else had normal faces, hyped up, yelling “NOOB TUBE!" And then there it was. Black and white fur. The rose on its hat. That face. The smile. That twisted smile I see when I close my eyes. That. God. Damn. THING. Nobody even reacted. Nobody even dared glance its way. Its tail swaying lazily.

It wasn't cheering. It wasn't clapping. You know what it was doing? Holding one of my OLDER childhood plushies. A beat-up stuffed fox. I didn't bring it here. I didn't even think of it. It had the stuffed fox pressed to its chest, hugging it like it was its own.

I thought I donated that plush to one of the kids I saw at a daycare. Is this fluffy mime... the kid? It can't be. It really can't. It's directly messing with my memories now.