He had been staring at the wall for fifteen minutes. My eyes narrowed as his face twitched. He tapped the table sporadically. I rose an eyebrow but said nothing. I never said anything.
I was a sheep. I followed.
To me the world was filled with two kinds of people; followers and leaders.
I was not ashamed in admitting I was a follower. I was the quiet one, the one that listened, the one that watched, the one that you trusted...and shouldn't have. He blinked and he focused on me for the first time.
He was the shepherd. He led.
"Are you sure?" He probed sceptically. I leaned on his desk, clasping my hands in front of my mouth like a saint in prayer. He didn't observe my leer.
Followers weren't followers forever, just as leaders weren't leaders forever.
"Yes."
After all, I was the quiet one, the one that stabbed you in the back.
