sara sat in her '96 toyota camry, observing the apartment directly across the street from her. she'd been on surveillance for the past three hours, and nothing had happened in that time. stretching in her seat, she set down the binoculars that were unhelpful -- the person she was watching had their window shades drawn -- and picked up the manila folder that had been tossed onto the passenger seat.
sara (also known as "good sara," and personified by the tiara perched atop her head) leafed through the pages upon pages of information:
sara (good sara, remember) sighed, and thought back to when her sister had begun her terror-filled reign. fighting with her parents. bothering her brother. picking on her brother. refusing to do what people said. she shook her head, determined to wallow in the "what went wrong?"'s, and concentrate on bringing her sister in, to do justice.
suddenly sara spied a very familiar figure walking out of the apartment building. hopping out of the car, she ever-so-sneakily sprinted across the road yelling "hey! wait!," "goddamnit, STOP, you fucking car!" and other obscenities. once she had crossed the six lane road (whew. but she knew they'd stop. cars always stop.) she galloped after bad-sara. once good-sara had reached bad-sara, good-sara stuck her foot around bad-sara's ankle, causing her to trip. once bad-sara was face down flat on the ground, good-sara slapped some handcuffs on bad-sara, and put one foot on her back, shouting "JUSTICE HAS BEEN DONE!"
