Day 9. I got out of that gnarly fire box. Somehow, I got out. Barely unscathed, all things being equal.

A Barney needs to dance. A Barney needs to sing. A Barney needs to catch a wave, to ride the surf, to grab a boom, to feel the oomph. I like hide and seek only so much. I can’t hide any more. I’ve had it.

So that brings me here. I’m on the edge. I’m going to escape, I am. I’m out of here. All I have to do is jump. Jump. Carve it up, Barney. That’s what I’m about to 祖uz that’s what I was born to do. Jump. Jump.

Well, it shouldn’t be too bad. I’ve already said that Barneys are nigh-invulnerable to spills and falls. And a little spill is way preferable to the blond tyrant. She waits for me, I know it. She’s stalking me still, I know it. I can feel her sick breath on me. I need to sing. A Barney needs to be free. I need to be me. Jump. Jump.

I’ve done way harsher tricks. I just have to jump, spin, carve up the wind, tack the board, and ride it down. I’d be Ok, I’m sure of that. But, but if I jump, what mayhem yet may come? Yes, yes, I could escape the blond tyrant, I could escape the thousand natural and unnatural shocks I will receive from her, and what’s more, I will escape the fear, which is longer and worse. But, down there is undiscovered country. And I would not, could not, no, I never shall return. Jump? Jump?

No. No, perhaps I will not escape. Perhaps I will not jump. I think I might rather bear the ills I have than fly to others that I know not of. And I have lost the name of action.

Is there no place for Barney to go?

Bea Murphy