A/N: Summary says it all. Written pretty much just for the hell of it. Reviews are always welcome!

Disclaimer: Oh come on people, you know I don't own a thing ...

I draw a line in the dust.

Donatello, curious and ever-searching for the meaning, explores it. He stares beyond it, ponders what lays there, makes theories. He hopes that he will someday explore the lands beyond the Line, but he does not cross it.

Michelangelo, uncaring and joyful, dances on it. He makes his brothers laugh. It makes me anxious to see him ruin my beautiful Line. He mocks it, tramples it, blurs it, but he does not cross it.

Raphael does not believe in lines. He simply walks where he feels he must, across the Line and back, again and again. As crass and confident as if the Line were not there at all.

This is how it is. No matter how I try to guard my Line, he always finds a way across it. Searching for something he feels he can only find in that forbidden zone.

I am left to wipe the slate clean; sweep away their footprints; smooth it all over. All evidence of the Line and the transgressions made against it is gone. Start afresh. Try again.

I draw a line in the dust.

I wonder why I bother.