A Period Please

I am the end, the last act, the final fleck, the teeny, tiny terminal pixel, but I am mighty. I may be small but I have muscle. I apply the brakes and the word parade obeys. I hold up my hand, blow my whistle, and watch the traffic halt. I am the language transit cop, the red road sign painted "STOP!" Language is my rodeo; I corral the wild vocabulary ponies, break them, make them wear bits, bridles; I am the word whisperer. Important documents - The Constitution of the United States of America, The Bill of Rights, The Emancipation Proclamation - are what they are because of my mark; without it, they would be gibberish. Books would be nonsensical run on sentences, characters shuffling willy-nilly everywhere, no order, no structure, misunderstood, just silly words wagging their tongues. I am Doctor Lockjaw; I bar the word mill door. Language is my life. Copyright, September 9, 2015 Faye Lanham Gibson