Today is an ordinary morning in the world. You wake up. Everything seems fine. But suddenly, your loved one is not your loved one. Actually, it's you. You go outside. The people on the street are also you. Everyone on the TV is you. Soon, you realize that you have multiplied. How did it get this way? You think you are asleep but you are very much awake. Were you part of an experiment? Have you gone crazy? Why has everyone become you? You try to get to the source but there's nothing but dead ends. You can't figure it out and no one else can or will help you either.

You try to live with it but it's no use. You want to return to your old life but how? Time travel doesn't exist and you know that if you fall asleep, it will be the same as now. You begin to look for a way out. You search but there's nothing. Soon, you black out from the frustration of a world where everyone is you.

You wake back up and strangely, everyone's faces are flickering. Was it a dream? No way. That's too much. The multiplication of one person can't be real. Or was it all in my mind. Before I can figure it out, I drop dead. Heart attack.

Now I am in another place. I was told there was an afterlife but I always dismissed it. Right away, I know something's not right. That's not St. Peter. And those aren't other souls waiting for redemption.

Oh, damn. They're all me.

On May 31st, 1976, Memorial Day of the American Bicentennial, a large-scale eating contest between three of the most famous eaters of the era was held. The event was held at the Felt Forum in New York City. The stakes: $1,000,000, given by four major conglomerates: Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pepsi-Cola, Anheuser-Busch, and Nabisco. The four in addition also bought advertising time for the syndicated television airing of the event, along with RCA Records and United Artists, who joined in for publicity based on two of the contestants. The event's name: Gluttonyfest' 76.

The contestants are as follows:

Contestant #1: Marlon Brando. A two-time Academy Award winner and star of the recent film The Missouri Breaks, Brando has emerged as a god amongst men on the eating scale. Some of his all-time eating exploits have included eating entire jars on peanut butter every day on the set of The Wild One, having expensive catering jobs of ham on the set and splitting 52 pairs of pants from excessive overeating on Mutiny on the Bounty, and on his newest film, eating a live frog and throwing it back into a river. Reportedly, the infamous scene in Last Tango in Paris was influenced when Brando was having a hankering for butter one afternoon. His biggest eating strength: ice cream. Brando has been known to eat five gallon tubs of ice cream in one sitting. When asked about what he'd do with the prize, Brando said he'd give it to charity.

Contestant #2: Elvis Presley. We all know The King's song collection, some by heart. But we also know that Elvis is a champion eater. To prepare for this competition, Mr. Presley has been supposedly consuming 85,000 calories a day. We are not sure how this is possible but will not question the publicists on that one. Some of Elvis's eating exploits have including the fool's gold loaf, an 8,000 calorie sandwich made of an entire loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of grape jelly, and one pound of bacon, boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts, and many scoops of ice cream. His biggest eating strength: peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Though he prefers them with Hawaiian sweet rolls, any kind of bread will do. When asked about what he'd do with the prize, Presley said he had not decided.

Contestant #3: Orson Welles. The man behind what is considered the greatest film of all-time, Citizen Kane, also has been known to have a titanic appetite. Mr. Welles' tastes are often known to be refined but he has been known to have less sophisticated tastes such as peanuts, Fritos, and Paul Maisson wine. His biggest eating strength: well, perhaps everything. Mr. Welles has been practicing by eating intimate dinners for four. And by four, we mean just Orson. When asked about what he'd do with the prize, Welles said he would finish The Other Side of the Wind and pay some debts.

The event was broadcast on syndicated television through Metromedia affiliates and other independent networks across the United States and Canada, reaching about 97% of the two countries. Other broadcasts would take place in Europe, Central and South America, Asia, and Australia. The American broadcast was covered by Phil Rizzuto of New York Yankees fame and Marv Albert of New York Knicks fame. As expected, Rizzuto would not be able to do the entire broadcast as he would have to be in Boston that night for the Yankees-Red Sox game on WPIX. The event began at 1:00 pm Eastern time and would be ready for airing at 8:00 pm Eastern time later that night.

The setup was as follows: there would be five rounds of eating or until one person remains. All food must chewed and swallowed to count. False starts or regurgitation will result in penalty or disqualification. Each round will run 10 minutes and a point system would be tallied for each round: five points for winner, three points for second, one point for third. The three contestants were introduced: Marlon Brando in a loose fitting muumuu-like suit, Elvis Presley in a blue suede suit with a "TCB" belt buckle, and Orson Welles in a tailored suit with no tie as Colonel Harland Sanders walked in to announce the rules to the contestants. He then rang a bell and the eating began.

Round #1: peanut butter. The first objective was to eat as much peanut butter as possible in ten minutes. Milk and spoons were provided. It was a great two-man battle between Brando and Presley as Welles was quickly left in the dust. Orson was barely able to get one jar in while Marlon and Elvis were able to get at least three down. When the ten minute mark was approached, it was too close to call. The third jars of Brando and Presley had to be measured by a judge, who declared that Presley had won by less than one ounce.

The score: Elvis Presley 5, Marlon Brando 3, Orson Welles 1.

Round #2: ice cream. The second objective was the same but room temperature water would be provided instead of milk. Colonel Sanders told the three contestants to watch out for the brain freezes and to take their time on the challenge. But unsurprisingly, none of the contestants cared to listen. All three contestants quickly dug into their 500ml tubs of ice cream, Brando choosing rocky road, Presley choosing mint chocolate chip, Welles choosing lemon tart, and slowly but surely got the brain freeze. All the contestants did manage to tear through three tubs each but Marlon won the battle as he managed to open a fourth tub when the ten minutes ran out. Brando was disappointed that he could not eat the fourth tub while waiting for the next round. Instead, Colonel Tom Parker decided to help himself to some rocky road.

The score: Marlon Brando 8, Elvis Presley 8, Orson Welles 2.

Round #3: cake. After an Alka-Seltzer break, the third round began. The objective was to eat as much frosted white cake in ten minutes. Water and Pepsi would be provided with forks to eat the cake. Once again, it was a Brando vs. Presley battle as Orson Welles could only stomach two pieces of cake. After his second piece and facing a sure elimination, Welles politely left the stage and told the scorekeeper he would be pulling out. As he left backstage, his assistant gave him a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, which he proceeded to shotgun. In the end, Brando wolfed down twelve pieces while Elvis chowed down eight. Elvis however downed three 12 ounce cans of Pepsi, compared to Brando's one.

The score: Marlon Brando 13, Elvis Presley 11, Orson Welles 3 (Welles resigned).

In between Rounds 3 and 4, a 20 minute intermission was taken. The audience in the Felt Forum was treated to free food and drink from the sponsors, Phil Rizzuto charted George Steinbrenner's private plane to Boston, and United Artists and RCA promoted new entertainment through trailers and 33 RPM singles. After a trailer for the forthcoming Burt Reynolds film Gator was screened on a large temporary screen, Gluttonyfest '76 was back on.

Round #4: bacon. With only two contestants left, the tension was building more and more in the Felt Forum. And Elvis's eyes widened as soon as he saw what his comeback bid would consist of. Those crispy, salty pieces of hog would be his '68 Comeback Special of eating. He destroyed those slabs of pork product as he stuffed those thinly-cut slices in his chops. The salt was too much for Marlon as he got thirsty pretty quickly and probably downed more water than bacon. By the time the ten minutes ended, Elvis destroyed Marlon by a total of 93 strips to 36.

The score: Elvis Presley 16, Marlon Brando 16.

Round #5: Oreos. It had all come down to one last round. The contest was tied and it would all amount to who could eat the most sandwich cookies from whose recipe was famously stolen from the fine people at Sunshine Biscuits. Marv Albert was hyping this final round like he'd never hyped anything before (the Knicks missed the playoffs and it looked like the Nets would steal their thunder so Marv had to get excited somehow) and the crowd was electric.

Colonel Sanders was amped up. That or he had some really good gravy on the mashed potatoes he ate during intermission but either way, he was ready to go. As soon as empty glasses were filled with ice cold milk and the bowls were filled with immaculate, unbroken Oreos, Colonel Sanders rang the bell to begin the final round. The crowd of 5,000 plus roared like a sea monster as Marlon and Elvis stuffed Oreos down their gobs. These two were remorseless eating machines as they pounded Oreos with reckless abandon, one million dollars in plain sight.

About midway through, Elvis began to feel the chocolate cookie sweats. Shortly after, Marlon felt the same. But they kept on. At about eight minutes, both began to feel like a hot water balloon but they kept trying. With 30 seconds left, Elvis just stopped eating as Marlon helped himself to catch up. Finally, the bell ringed to signify time had run out.

The judges began counting how many Oreos had been eaten as both Marlon and Elvis were looking hot and tired. The two shook hands and made small talk as they awaited the results. Finally, Colonel Sanders was handed the totals and read them off.

"Marlon Brando has eaten 129 Oreo cookies," Mr. Sanders read off. The crowd was so silent that when someone knocked over their empty bottle of Busch Bavarian, everyone heard it. "But, Elvis Presley has also eaten 129 Oreo cookies. That's right, there's a tie. And I don't know how to---".

And right there, Elvis Presley proceeded to vomit gallons of soot colored-like chunk onto the stage. Some people were disgusted while others laughed at The King's social faux-pas. Elvis approached a microphone to apologize. "I'm sorry," Elvis told the crowd. "I must use the bathroom as I've got much more." Elvis failed to make it as he created a vomit trail across backstage.

"Since Mr. Presley was unable to hold in his cookies," Colonel Sanders announced to the crowd, "Marlon Brando is officially declared the winner of Gluttonyfest '76."

As the stage was covered in puke, which was only made worse by the cleaning crew slipping and sliding into it, Brando accepted his $1 million check in the crowd area. He simply thanked the audience, handed the check to his assistant, and returned to his hotel to sleep off the mother of all stomachaches.

In the end, Gluttonyfest '76 was a rousing success. The special managed a 24 share and in some markets managed to be seen by 40% of the television viewing populace. Elvis's "puke seen 'round the world" was the talk of many news outlets and late night talk shows but people loved him even more for it. TCB, indeed. There were many offers for follow-ups to Gluttonyfest '76 but Colonel Sanders and his colleagues decided against it as it was felt the sequel was never as good as the original. Any plans were shut down due to the combination of Elvis's 1977 death and Sanders' 1980 death.

As expected, Brando gave his winnings to charity. The money didn't matter to him anyway, especially since he would see even more for Superman and Apocalypse Now. Brando continued to lead a full life (and a full stomach) until his death in 2004.

Elvis returned to touring shortly after and continued to live, well, like The King until his death the next year. It was immediately declared that Gluttonyfest '76 had nothing to do with his death as there were various other factors to his passing.

Orson Welles had no regrets about pulling out after Round 3. He pretty much knew he was finished once he saw how Marlon and Elvis ate. Orson kept busy in various film and television endeavors while also selling wine, peas, and fishsticks on TV and radio. He died in 1985, right after recording voice work as a planet-eating robot in Transformers: The Movie.

But once again, the big winners were the advertisers. After the show, KFC, Nabisco, Anheuser-Busch, Pepsi, RCA, and United Artists saw increased sales in their products. And that kind of is why these things happen. To sell products and to get people in a frenzy over what to consume. One person's gluttony creates gluttony for millions, whether in food, drink, or media. And that's how the chain begins.

The theatre lobby was dark as we left our movie early Sunday morning. Now this wasn't too unusual as I had been at plenty of movie theatres at closing time. But it was a bit too quiet. A police officer walked up to us.

"Theatre's closed, kid," the officer told us with a slight affect. "Go home and be safe."

I guess he didn't mind that we snuck into another movie without paying after the first one ended. That was the great thing about the Sunrise Multiplex, so many screens and so little security. Same thing with the Sunrise Mall in Massapequa. But anyway, why were they so concerned about our safety?

We walked out to the parking lot to his car. Though I was older than him, I didn't drive (I was always afraid of crashing) so he took his car. I felt more comfortable as the passenger anyway. The night was cold and the only glow came from the sirens of the Ford police cars situated in the parking lot.

"What do you think happened?" I was asked as the car was being started.

"How should I know, Daren?" I replied. "We were watching Herbert West conquer brain death when it happened."

"I was only wondering, Kristina." Daren started the car. His Toyota hatchback was small but it had a good heating system. 30 seconds flat and I would go from shivering to burning up. I shouldn't have worn my sweatshirt with my jean jacket.

"If my parents found out and someone died," I began as he drove. "I don't think they'll ever let me out of the house again."

"Nonsense," he told me. "You've got school and your job at the art supply place. They'll have to let you out."

"You know," I continued. "I think they're worried about how things will be after I leave."

"How so?" he asked.

"Well, I'm the youngest and everyone else has left. Doreen's in Chicago and Jack and Sam are in Westbury. Mom and Dad probably thought I was always going to be their little girl. I bet they're scared that all five foot and two and a half inches of me will be going to NYU alone."

"You'll be fine. You're getting a full ride scholarship, aren't you?"

"That's what I recall. The University people told me it was waiting for me after that competition. They couldn't believe I only had the second best entry in the state."

"Maybe they were right."

"Please, there's a lot better than me. I may have been practicing since second grade but that doesn't mean I'm one of the best teenage artists in the state. Or in Roslyn High for that matter."

"You're in the best in Roslyn. I've seen the other artists on display in the cafeteria and they don't compare."

"Maybe I'm too critical of myself. Six years of ballet can do that."

"I just think your teacher was convinced puberty wasn't a thing."

"Nah, I'm sure she does. Some girls are flat as a board, but not me. Or my mother. Or my sister. Many generations of ballet and many generations of breasts."

Daren got quiet for a second. "You want to know what I think happened in there."

"What?" I asked.

"Let's say there was a line at the snack bar and some fat bastard wanted a refill on jumbo size popcorn or bladder busting diet soda. And let's assume he cut in line and proceeded to knock three people down."

"That's impossible," I interrupted. "No one could possibly be that wide."

"You would think, but no." Daren kept on. "I was looking at the Guinness Book of World Records and read about this guy from Seattle who weighed 1,200 pounds. It's possible. Anyway, one of the three people gets a gash from the back of their head. He just wanted to see Back to the Future for the twelfth time, not get knocked down by someone's large girth. The other two people meanwhile are understandably pissed. They notice the fat guy getting his refill and having his popcorn tub drenched in that fake butter that looks like motor oil. Pretty soon, they proceed to punch his gut but he's not going down. Not long after, the entire line joins the punchers. It's like that game on "The Price is Right" except with a 500 pound man instead of a wall of money. Finally, twelve, fourteen people are able to lift the fat one and throw him through the window. The lobby people cheer and the fighters get free popcorn."

"But if he was so big," I replied. "Then how could he possibly fit in the seats? Couldn't he have just gone to the drive-in in Westbury and adjusted his car accordingly. You can make your own popcorn and bring food."

"Maybe he just likes surround sound," Daren answered. "You have any ideas?"

I thought for a moment as I noticed we were about to go on the Cross Island Parkway. Due to the lateness, traffic was light so it would be quicker than usual. Daren was lighting himself a cigarette.

"You want one?" he asked.

"I quit," I answered. "You know how sick I got the first two times."

"Right," Daren remembered as he lightly smacked himself on his forehead.

I then thought up a theory. "You remember that party a while back at the Bartalotti Sisters' place?"

"Yeah, Adriana and Claudia. Those girls who are always trying to look like Madonna's character in Desperately Seeking Susan."

"Remember how many windows got broken because a bunch of the lightweights in ninth grade couldn't hold their liquor and kept running into the walls and sliding windows? Let's say those same girls…or maybe even some sorority girls at one of the colleges or even people in our grade got ridiculously piss drunk and began to run into walls and doors and windows and even people as if they were pinballs or something. Maybe if they were metal then they could have gone "ping-ping-ping" as they hit other patrons or the concession stand. So anyway, maybe they ended up breaking the window and that's why things were so weird."

"That's kind of farfetched," Daren told me as puffed on his cigarette. "Why would a bunch of drunk kids have such speed? Shouldn't they be kind of lumbering from the alcohol?"

"I'm only speculating," I answered. "We didn't see it go down so no answer from us is a definitive one."

We remained quiet as we got onto Grand Central Parkway to enter Northern State Parkway. A bootleg Clan of Xymox tape was playing in Daren's tape player. It's probably gone for two weeks straight because I now know all the lyrics to "A Day". I sure hope that doesn't make me a sellout to the people who know me for watching Dance Fever religiously. I ejected the tape and the radio came on to a Kate Bush song. Not the great one named after the book they always seem to assign in 10th grade English, her new one.

"Yeah," Daren spoke up as he put his cigarette out. "I guess I have been listening to that tape too much. Besides, radio seems be at its best at 1:30 in the morning."

We continued to listen to the radio playlist of New Wave and UK-based songs as we approached Roslyn. A few minutes later, I knew I was home as I saw a light on near the front door.

"I'd kiss you," Daren told me as he stopped. "But I just smoked and you wouldn't appreciate it."

"Thanks," I told him, somewhat confused. "See you Monday."

I got out of the car and got my house key from my jacket pocket. I came in and saw Mom watching an old Spencer Tracy movie on the TV. She noticed me coming in.

"How was the movie, Krissy-doll?" she asked.

"Mom, don't call me Krissy-doll," I answered.

"Okay, Kristina. What did you see again?"

"We saw A Nightmare on Elm Street 2 and after, we decided to see Re-Animator. Re-Animator was better but you'd hate them both."

"Scary movies, huh?"

"Yeah." I walked over to Mom and got a better look at the TV. "Which Spencer Tracy movie is this?"

"The Last Hurrah. He's a politician up for re-election but faces his biggest challenger. I saw it in the theatre with your father years ago. Speaking of your father, I should be joining him upstairs. Goodnight, Kristina."

Mom turned off the TV, I kissed her goodnight, and we parted ways after we went upstairs. I changed into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and crashed into my bed.

The next morning, I woke up and took a shower. After putting on some clothes, I went downstairs for breakfast. As I was pouring myself a glass of orange juice to take my anti-anxiety medication with, Mom asked me something about last night.

"Which theatre did you go to last night?" she asked.

"Oh shit," I thought to myself. I came down for pancakes and to watch the episode of Tales from the Darkside I taped and Mom's grilling me.

"I…don't remember," I answered as I poured syrup onto my chocolate chip pancakes.

"Because last night, there was a riot at the Sunrise Multiplex in Valley Stream. They were all going to see that movie, what was it, Krush Groove. Have you seen that one yet?"

"I saw it with Daren last week after work."

"At the mall in Massapequa?"

"Yeah."

"Apparently, someone got shot. Kristina, be safe next time you and Daren go to the movies together. And you might want to stay away from that theatre. Now eat your pancakes. They're getting cold."

Dad didn't enter the conversation as he was reading the sports page of Newsday on the Giants game. Now, I love my dad but it's probably for the best he didn't enter. He probably would have suggested arming myself or something. Who knows?

At school on Monday, a few people were talking about the incident. The story had now evolved into three deaths and a food fight. How the hell does this stuff evolve? Long Island, man. I can't wait to leave. Right before I left to go to work, I saw Daren and he had told a few people we were there. I told them I knew nothing, which was the truth.

Later at the art store, I was manning the register when a longtime customer who was heavily into horror movie designs began chatting about the Nightmare on Elm Street movies.

"You see the new one?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "You?"

"Not yet."

"You hear about the theatre in Valley Stream showing it?"

"I was there."

"Was it true somehow got decapitated with a machete? I would have loved to been there was but I was making a short movie."

"I didn't see anything. Sorry."

"Bummer. How much for the paints?"

"$15.29."

He set a $20 down, I gave him change, and he left. I poured myself some coffee from the back and wondered where the hell people come up with these stories. You hear one thing and something else morphs out of it. Sure, you can create your own bizarre story but when it gets out, all bets are off.

Eventually, the story died down and everyone moved on. I went to the theatre on a few more dates before I left in August 1986 for Manhattan and college. I come back to Roslyn every year but I last saw Daren in January 1987. He was finishing his senior year and we spent a Saturday night together, seeing a movie (Sid and Nancy) and talking until dawn about our lives and how things would be in the next few years. He was planning on going to engineering school and working with the rock bands and he asked me how NYU was. That's the last time I saw Daren. He went missing in June 1987 while in Oregon and never returned. He was declared dead in June 1994. By then, I was still in Manhattan with my seven-year old daughter Talia. No funeral was held due to the hope he was still alive but I doubt it. It's been too long and he wasn't the type to just disappear and live incognito.

The Sunrise Multiplex Cinemas closed on January 19th, 2015. By that time, it had been just over 29 years since that night in November. I was not there on the last night as I would have been in Manhattan, preparing for the new semester for my job. The last time I was there was Christmas Eve 1996, when my daughter, my brother, and I saw a double feature of 101 Dalmatians and Mars Attacks!. Talia and I were visiting for the school holidays as Hanukkah came too early for the holiday break and my brother Sam wanted to get away for a few hours while his wife took care of their three-month old. I think we went there for the sound system but my memory hasn't been as good since I was nineteen. I remember there were a lot of kids for the first movie and almost no one for the second. I guess no one was really fazed by what happened in Valley Stream on November 3rd, 1985, no matter how the story went.

A twenty-something man was attempting to put on the moves on a few girls in the downtown area of a big city one weekday afternoon. He thought he could pull off the moves but he was failing miserably. He was decent-looking enough and his moves were smooth but he kept getting shut down.

"Why must every girl be taken in this big city?!" he yelled. If it kept up like this, he felt as if he was going to chop off a certain appendage or something.

A young girl then approached the man, trying to figure out what was going on. She looked somewhat like a modern-day interpretation of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady.

"Would you like a flower?" she asked.

The man was angry. "Would I like a flower?!" he angrily repeated. "Look, lady! I'm getting my ass handed to me and all you can say is "Would I like a flower?" Hell no, I do not want a flower!"

The girl ran away crying. The man then noticed that a lot of people were watching this go down as it happened. The man was then walking around the city when he saw a flower shop. He walked in and began looking for the girl he made cry. She wasn't there. He found another shop. She wasn't there either. The man then proceeded to go to seven different florists until he found the girl.

The girl was sitting on a stair step, still bawling her eyes out. The man attempted to get her attention but she got scared.

"Rape!" she yelled and attempted to get her whistle out but the man stopped her.

"I'm not going to rape you!" he told her. "I came to apologize. You came to me at a bad time. My name's Scott."

"I'm Adela," the flower girl replied. "Now go away."

"What are you doing tonight?" Scott asked. He hoped his persuasiveness would work this time.

"I'm going to tend to the flowers and then go home," Adela answered.

"What time do you get off?" Scott asked.

"About 7:00," Adela answered.

"I'll be waiting," Scott replied. "Wait, that sounds too creepy. Excuse me while I go hate myself."

Scott then went to a nearby coffee shop and watched Adela do her work. She really did not know what the outside world was like, Scott observed while she spent all of her time with the flowers. She hardly talked to anyone and didn't seem to be bothered by the presence of others in the room. It was as if she was invisible.

7:00 pm came. Adela left the flower shop where she saw Scott waiting for her. As she began to speak to Scott, a guy with a big maple bat came up for some reason and smashed Scott's left kneecap. Adela got from her purse a can of mace and sprayed it right in his eyes. The man with the big bat dropped to the floor and Adela took his bat. She then prompted another employee to call the police while another bystander was given the bat while Adela tended to Scott.

"Are you okay?" Adela asked.

"My kneecap feels like it's a thousand pieces," Scott answered.

"The ambulance will come shortly," Adela assured him.

It took nearly a half-hour but finally the ambulance came. For some reason, they wouldn't let Adela come so she got a ride to the hospital. As expected, the prognosis wasn't great: Scott had a broken kneecap and would have to spend some time in a wheelchair. He spent the night in the hospital and Adela stayed with him.

The next morning, Adela took Scott home and she got to see what he was: some rich idiot with no day job. A trust fund kid, pretty much. But Adela managed to see through his exterior and found some heart in him.

"You saved my life, Adela," Scott told her. "If I hadn't yelled at you, I'd be dead."

"It's nothing, really," Adela replied. "I would have done the same for anyone else."

Adela decided to keep Scott interested by taking him to her work for the next few weeks. The accident changed Scott for the better, as he went from a smarmy jerk to a reliable friend. He helped Adela out with her social skills while she helped him respect the ladies a bit more. It was a relationship that didn't go past a friendship but they certainly cared about each other. And none of it would have happened had she not offered him that flower.

(originally published on Facebook, 2011)

Deep in the woods around an isolated southern town, there lived a large family struggling to survive. They were eleven people, two parents and nine children, crammed into a small trailer with their morale worsening by the day. There used to be twelve children but three of them died due to being born addicted to meth. The parents, careless people who cared more about themselves than their children, spent most of their days drinking, beating their children, and making their drug of choice. Formerly, they were hunters but the meth labs made most of the animals stay away from the woods. The children, malnourished, badly bruised, and in need of a bath, never went to school. Since there were no social services around, they more or less didn't exist. They were unable to go to food pantries since their parents saw those as handouts for lazy people. This was the Boone family and the hole that they were in was about to get much deeper.

One night, the children were locked in their one room like Holocaust victims fighting to survive. The evening was cold, the trailer had no heat, and the children's clothes were threadbare. The kids huddled up to each other for warmth. Sixteen year-old Scott and fifteen year-old Nancy were in one group, thirteen year-old twins Ash and Karen huddled up to another, eleven year-old Paul, and ten-year Ron huddled up together and eight year-old Christy, six year-old Mikayla and five year-old Grace got together. During the night, Karen died in her sleep from hunger. At 5'4", Karen only weighed 52 pounds and hadn't eaten in six days. She, like the other kids, had survived on mostly bugs and sticks for the past three months. The next morning, Jerry, their father woke the children up in his loud and angry tone. As the children woke up, Ash tried to wake up Karen but failed to do so. Jerry cleared the room and started kicking Karen's corpse. When he realized that she was dead, Jerry carried her body outside and began a bonfire. His wife, Martha, asked Jerry what was going on. Jerry said that Karen died and that they needed the meat. Martha, her brain cells mostly killed by the meth and alcohol and fearing Jerry's anger, assisted. After Karen was cooked, she was split into several pieces and put onto whatever plates they could find. Martha, repeating what Jerry told her to say, told the children the bad news and good news. The bad news was that Karen left to find work. But the good news was that they managed to kill a deer and that they would have something to eat that day. Without thinking, the children dug in and enjoyed the stringy but satisfying taste of underweight human flesh.

Later that day, Paul was suffering a stomachache. After spending so long without food, he had overindulged and was near bursting. Jerry saw what was going on and began to yell at him for being lazy. He began beating Paul with a baseball bat and ended up bursting his stomach, killing him. The same routine with Karen happened with Paul and he became dinner. Jerry's lie to Martha and the other seven children was that Paul went hunting for a rare deer. The lie was outlandish but the children weren't allowed to question him. That night, the remaining children wondered about what happened to Karen and Paul. Nancy said that whatever happened to them, they were lucky to leave home. The next morning, the remaining children felt groggy from the meals and slowly got up. Grace was still sleeping as Jerry came in to wake her up. For some reason, Jerry had an axe and as soon as you could say "salted or unsalted", the poor girl was beheaded. With the other children wondering what happened to Grace, Scott mentioned how puzzling it was that their parents had suddenly gotten all this meat. There were no animals in the woods and their parents couldn't have possibly stolen it. Also, what their dad had told them came off as complete and utter bullshit. Scott may have not made it past the fourth grade but he knew something was up. No one else believed Scott in his belief that their dad killed their siblings and the rest decided to eat Grace in peace. Scott passed on the meal. Jerry told him that you will eat or else. Scott told his father, "Or else what, are you going to eat me too?" Jerry told Scott that was the last straw and he got out a Smith and Wesson, loaded it and shot Scott twice in the head. Jerry then told the other kids to keep eating or else that would happen to them.

Scared shitless, the surviving children, Nancy, Ash, Ron, Christy and Mikayla feared for their lives. Forcing themselves to be good, they listened to everything that Jerry said. They spent the next few nights quiet and still while Jerry and Martha shot up on the drug that led to their downfall. But sooner or later, hunger struck in. Jerry began snatching the children up one by one, killing them while the rest were asleep and serving them up the next day. With fewer people to feed, there were leftovers that would help Jerry and Martha live for a little while. Jerry was even starting to develop a slight paunch. A week later, only Jerry and Martha remained. With an IQ below the rate of a normal, functioning human, Martha thought nothing of the disappearance of her children while Jerry liked having the quiet. But nothing would be fully satisfying for Jerry without the thought of Martha being out of the equation. One night, with the meat supply running low, Jerry brutally murdered Martha in their bed. He left the body lying in the bed as he sat in his living room shooting up while taking a swig of a Keystone Light/Mountain Dew/blood cocktail. The next morning, he cooked her up and saved the rest for later.

One month past and the smell of rotting flesh overpowered the trailer. Maggots, bugs and rats began to take over the trailer and Jerry seems to prefer the company of the pests to his own family. While putting a needle into his vein for his regular fix, he accidentally let some blood spout out from one of his many track marks. He began to suck out the blood and soon realized how good it tasted. He then got out a revolver and shot off his big toe. Tying some cloth on his foot, he cooked the toe. When finished, he ate the toe and came to the realization that he tasted delicious. Deciding that his future laid in self-cannibalism, Jerry began cutting off his own limbs and cooking them. Toes for breakfast, ears for lunch, an entire hand for dinner, whatever body parts he could find. After about a week, Jerry only had a head, one arm and his upper body left. Unable to shoot up or even move, Jerry's taste for people got the end of him. He died eleven days later from hunger, the same way that his daughter Karen died a few months earlier. His body would not be discovered until two years later when a logging company discovered the trailer and the rancid smell.

Millions of people suffer every day being among the hungry and the poor. For Jerry Boone, he was hungry for a peaceful life away from his suffering family but was poor in sense for deciding that cannibalism was the way out. I guess addictive drugs cause you to make bad decisions. Jerry Boone's bad decisions turned a killer into his own victim.

Johnny Quincy Pants is not your typical cop. In fact, he's hardly a cop at all. Sure, he's got a badge and graduated from police academy but other than that, he's a failure at his job. Now, his real name wasn't Johnny Q. Pants. He was born John Quincy Jones thirty-two years ago in a quiet little part of Queens. Tall and lanky, Johnny made an impression immediately. He was well-liked in school, though he was a bit sexually frustrated in his high school days. It was in high school that he got the name Johnny Q. Pants. Every day, Johnny came to school wearing a variety of bizarre types of pants. Cargo pants, Hammer pants, biker shorts, kilts, you name it, he wore it below the belt. No one ever knew why. He just did.

After high school, Johnny Q. Pants enrolled in police academy as he knew the pay was good and he wanted to help people. He did quite well in police academy and graduate with honors. But after he was sworn in by the 19th Precinct of New York City, that's when his work quality began to slip. He was okay in the early days but then things got a bit haywire on June 20th, 2005 when he came to work wearing a pair of his signature pants instead of the police issue pants. The chief, a gruff old man a few years from retirement, took notice of the pants, set Johnny aside and asked him a few questions.

"Why are you not wearing your regular pants?" asked the chief.

"Those pants were constricting," answered Johnny. "Besides, black isn't really my color."

"Blue," corrected the chief. "Your pants are navy blue."

"Black, navy blue," Johnny replied to the chief. "It's all the same to me."

"For the love of god, change your pants," pleaded the chief. "You're going to make a mockery of the precinct if you go on duty wearing those."

"Fine, fine," Johnny said as he was forced to relent to the demand. "I just thought I'd liven things up."

From that day on, Johnny's work began to suffer. He wasn't making arrests, he was still committing dress code violations, and he was unable to work in any sort of capacity among the force. But the chief couldn't fire him as he never missed work and always filled out his paperwork.

One day, the chief decided to bring in a detective from the vice division to keep tabs on Johnny. The detective, suave but cool under pressure, was only doing this for the money but he liked a challenge.

"Detective Seale, I need you to keep a tab one of my officers," the chief asked.

"It's The Pants, right?" asked Det. Seale.

"Yes, it's The Pants," answered the chief.

"You know why they call him The Pants, don't you?" Det. Seale added.

"It's because he wears those pants," answered the chief. "Did you know he has 133 dress code violations this year alone because of those?"

"No, it's not the pants," Det. Seale told the chief. "It's because he's really bad at his job. Well, that and the pants. There's a double meaning."

The chief then shooed Det. Seale away to start his job. Det. Seale then walked up to Johnny, who was wearing large orange pants with tiger stripes with his police shirt. Johnny was taking a nap while sitting on his desk chair.

"Johnny, wake up," prompted Det. Seale. "I'm going to be on a ride along with you, today."

Johnny woke up. "Yeah, okay," Johnny answered. "Give me five minutes."

Thirty minutes later, Johnny finally got to the car where Det. Seale had been waiting patiently.

"Who are you and why are you at my car?" asked Johnny.

"I'm Det. Seale," answered the detective. "We talked "five minutes ago"."

"We did?" replied Johnny. "I totally forgot."

"I'm riding along today," Det. Seale reminded Johnny.

"Okay, let's go," Johnny told Det. Seale. "I got shotgun."

"This is a police car," Det. Seale prompted Johnny, "You always get shotgun."

"Right," Johnny reminded himself.

It was a quiet spring Tuesday afternoon in the outer boroughs as Johnny and Det. Seale were enjoying the sights and just driving around. Johnny was telling some story about the time he wrestled a bobcat only to realize that he was drunk and that he was fighting his own shadow. Det. Seale was bewildered and trying to figure out what this had to do with anything. Finally, the radio kicked in.

"We have a 10-30B at Carter and Hernandez," the radio dispatcher spoke. "Please, Johnny Q. Pants. Do not answer this."

Johnny gives a smile at Det. Seale and begins to pick up the CB.

"Please, no," Det. Seale told Johnny.

Johnny picks up the CB and radios in.

"I'm on my way," Johnny answers.

"Oh, hell no," the dispatcher tells Johnny.

The way to the bank was about how you'd expect from a bad cop like Johnny. Three bystanders needed to be treated for scrapes and bruises, four cars crashed, many trash cans and fire hydrants were destroyed beyond all recognition and the area was certainly a lot noisier than before. A typical Captain Crash, Johnny was.

Johnny and Det. Seale finally got to the bank where a huge mob of people swarmed the scene. Johnny got out of the car, where he noticed Det. Seale looked pale as a ghost.

"You getting out?" asked Johnny.

"You go at it alone," answered Det. Seale. "I still need to regain my respect for drivers."

"It's your funeral," Johnny told Det. Seale.

Johnny walked into the bank, which he found was very silent except for the hostages that were down on the ground.

"Where's the robber?" Johnny asked.

The hostages all pointed to the big safe in the back, which made Johnny happy.

"Thank you," Johnny answered.

Johnny then walked into the big safe in the back where he saw an armed gunman wearing a leather jacket and a ski mask with a number of items on a pallet cart.

"So," Johnny said as he decided to intervene without violence, "did you rob the bank?"

"No," the robber answered. "It was like this when I got here."

"That's all I need to know," said Johnny, pleased with the answer. "Go on with your day."

Johnny then left the bank with the mob rushing to ask questions. Johnny blew them off as he walked to his car.

"False alarm," Johnny told Det. Seale, as he drove off and went on with his day.

(originally published on Facebook, October 2011)

In the not-too-distant future, sometime around October. Cold weather, Halloween and of course, the Fall Classic. Many Americans look forward to the World Series. Baseball fans, sports nuts and of course, groupies. Kristina Banzeck was all three. An obsessive fan of the Chicago White Sox and a beautiful brunette girl of about 27, she followed every game, every off-season, every spring training. She would take vacations from her job as a receptionist at a law firm to follow the team on road trips and spring training. She was so distant from family and old friends due to her obsession.

Tonight was Game 7 of the World Series. Kristina didn't have tickets, her dead-end job and the lack of a college diploma led her to be low on cash. Instead, she was at a local South Side sports bar called Fox's. The bartenders, an old guy named Max and his daughter named Samantha, knew her by name. Her order, two shots of tequila and a Miller Lite, keep them coming, was well known among the bar. Most of the barflies knew her as the White Sox Supergroupie. As game time approached, the patrons joined in on drinking songs and rally cries for their team to win.

The series had been a narrow contest between the Sox and the St. Louis Cardinals. St. Louis got Game 1 in Chicago but the White Sox got the next two, the second in St. Louis. The Cardinals took Games 4 and 5 as they went back to Chicago. The White Sox got Game 6 in extra innings and were sure to win Game 7. Game 7 was a pitching rematch of Game 3, an 11-4 win for the White Sox. The White Sox pitcher, Nick Davidson, pitched seven strong innings in Game 3, striking out seven and allowing just three runs. The Cardinals pitcher, Larry Brenner, was yanked after four innings and seven runs. However, the seventh game is always different than the third one as this game had no other after it.

The game was a tight one. The White Sox took a 2-0 lead in the second inning from a two-out double. The Cardinals made it 2-1 in the third with a bases-loaded single. The White Sox added another run in the fourth to make it 3-1 on a solo shot to left. The Cardinals tied it in the sixth on a pair of doubles. The White Sox took the lead again in the bottom of the eighth inning on a long single that scored the go-ahead run. The game, and the Series, looked under wraps. But then, the Sox's luck ran out.

While the fans at the bar began to go crazy, the top of the ninth began. The White Sox's closer was a burly and unstable man who was known for his fast and violent pitches. His first pitch beaned the Cards' number 9 hitter and the home plate umpire threw him out. The closer started arguing with the umpire and attempted to punch him in the chest. The umpire, an ex-Marine, knocked him to the ground in self-defense. Two Chicago policemen escorted the closer out of the stadium while the worked-up home crowd booed. The Cardinals were out for blood. The next pitcher, the Game 4 starter, walked the next two batters and the bases were loaded. Then, Donnie Alston came up. A second-year player, he had hit 21 home runs and hit .306. He was also a great fielder, providing much needed speed in right. The pitcher, without much energy, was in a dilemma. He couldn't walk him because then, the game would be tied. If he threw to him, he would probably hit one out. He took his chances. At the first pitch Alston saw, he hit a grand slam to make the score 7-4. After that, the bottom fell out. St. Louis scored four more times to make it 11-4. The White Sox went down 1-2-3 in the bottom of the ninth. The bar was silenced. Kristina was dejected. She walked home to her apartment, moping. She entered her apartment, decked out in White Sox memorabilia and cried herself to sleep.

After the loss, it seemed as if Kristina had stopped caring about baseball completely. She stopped going to Fox's Bar, she decided not to follow the team to spring training, she re-enrolled to college and she was actually talking to her friends and family again. Sure, she was still a bit unhinged as she was drinking more but the new Kristina seemed to be a better person. Then, the schedule for the next Major League Baseball season came out. Kristina went online and saw that the White Sox and the Cardinals would have a rematch on the weekend of June 17th to June 19th. She took the day off from work as she had an idea. Fueled by vodka and sunflower seeds, she came with a list of revenge plots. Bombing was out of the question, food poisoning was too outlandish, a plane crash was too expensive and after 27 different ideas and four bottles of Popov, she was tired and about to throw up. While vomiting into her toilet bowl, a light bulb clicked in her head. She decided that she would kidnap Donnie Alston and kill him.

For the next few months, she created the plans. She built traps in her apartment, she bought lots of sex toys from a local adult bookstore (she had many already, but there always room for more) and had MLB Extra Innings to scout out Alston's every move. The White Sox, having gone through a fire sale, weren't looking too good so this led to Kristina closely watching Alston on TV. His season was looking good so far. Since winning the World Series MVP, Alston had been playing MVP-caliber baseball. He was hitting .355 and had 21 home runs a week before the Cardinals-White Sox series. On Monday, Kristina went to Fox's Bar for the first time since the Series. It was a travel day for the Cardinals so no game was on. Samantha immediately recognized Kristina and told her "long time, no see". Samantha then asked Kristina if she wanted the usual. Kristina so no and ordered something a bit more fruity. Kristina then asked how Max was doing. Samantha simply told her that he died. Kristina asked how and Samantha told her that he had a heart attack a month after the World Series and that she and her husband inherited the bar. They were also considering selling the bar and starting a family. Kristina mentioned that nothing was the same anymore. Kristina then told Samantha that she had some important news and that no one else could know. Samantha opened the enclosure on the bar and let Kristina in. They went into the back as Kristina told her that she would kidnap Donnie Alston and kill him. Samantha told her that she was crazy and that she would get life. Kristina explained that if he stole the Series from the Sox, then they should rightfully take what's theirs. Samantha told her that she should just forgive and forget and wait for next year. Kristina told Samantha that last year was that year. Samantha gets irate and points at the door, telling her to finish her drink and get out. After Kristina downs the rest of her daiquiri in one gulp, she yells at Samantha and tells her that last year was their year and this year was payback.

A few days passed. Kristina had saved up some vacation days and asked for Friday off. Friday morning was when the Cardinals arrived at Midway International Airport. They would hit the field by mid-afternoon. The first part of the plan was that Alston never makes it to the field. To pull this off, Kristina would dress up as a prostitute and pretend to solicit men in the men's bathroom. When coming up with the costume, a tube top, pleather mini skirt, leggings, heels and a small jean jacket, Kristina said to herself that she hadn't dressed like this since high school. But this of course wasn't an outfit to give head to in some boy's dad's Camaro. She also had some chloroform and a rag hidden in a small purse that would knock out Alston and to get him to the apartment, she would pretend to be his wife and that he ate some bad shellfish or something. After a taxi ride home, the madness would begin.

Friday morning came. The team was scheduled to arrive sometime between 7:00 am and 10:00 am for a 7:00 pm game. Kristina took a train to Midway to wait for the team. She found the terminal where the team was expected to arrive from and found the nearest bathroom. At about 8:06 am, the team emerged from the terminal. There was Donnie Alston, a tall, handsome man with a well-chiseled body and a million-dollar smile. A 6'2", 205 pound man vs. a 5'4", 135 pound girl. A tough battle, sure. But it was definitely not impossible due to Kristina's determination. As Alston was talking to a pair of teammates, Alston mentioned that he had to go into the bathroom. He didn't want to look jet-lagged for the press. Kristina went into the men's bathroom and hid in a stall. Standing on a toilet seat (germ protector, of course), Kristina watched as Donnie was splashing his face with water and taking a pair of extra-strength Tylenol. She began to prepare the chloroform as he cupped some water from the faucet to take the pills with. While Donnie was wiping his face with a paper towel, Kristina opened the stall door and jumped on Donnie like a lion sneaks for antelope. She got the chloroform onto his mouth and as soon as she jumped off of him, Donnie went out like a light.

Since his teammates likely saw him enter, she dragged his body into one of the stalls and waited for the team to leave. A pair of teammates entered the bathroom but assume that the stall was being used by someone else. After they left, Kristina got a wheelchair and put Donnie in it. She put a White Sox cap and a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on him. They went outside as they waited for the taxi. While waiting for the taxi, the team could be seen looking for him. A player assumed that he headed for the hotel while another mentioned that it would be uncharacteristic for him to leave without the team.

The plan was going smoothly. Donnie was sleeping like a baby and Kristina was safe as a kitten as they sat in the taxi. "How long would it take for the pieces to come together," Kristina thought. "They would never expect a girl like me to commit kidnapping and murder and therefore, I can get off completely." As the taxi stopped at her apartment complex, the taxi driver got a good look at her. He found a pair of identifying marks, a Chicago White Sox tattoo on the front of her right hip and a pair of doves on the back of her hips. It was nothing important for the moment, but if things came out then the tube top may be an Achilles' heel in Kristina's so-called brilliant plan.

At about 1:00 pm, Donnie woke up. His hands and feet were tied to a recliner and his head was covered by a black silk hood. Kristina, now in her regular attire of a fitted White Sox T-shirt and Daisy Dukes, took off the hood. Donnie, looking around at the apartment, asked what kind of freak she was. Kristina told him that she was a freak that wanted revenge. Donnie asked her what he did to her as he hadn't even met her. Kristina explained to him that he stole the World Series from the White Sox and that he made her lose interest in everything that made life so important for her. As a result, he had a 0-2 count and one more thing that he did wrong would be his third strike. Donnie then asked what he could do to spare his life. Kristina then told him two things. First, the White Sox would have to win at least one game in the three-game set. If the Cardinals won one or two games, they would be foul balls. If they swept, then he would die. The second thing was that he would have to submit to anything that she says. Right after she said this, Kristina revealed herself to be wearing a strap-on. Kristina then told Donnie that she would be untying him from the chair but would be handcuffing his hands and feet. She then got out two pairs of furry handcuffs for his hands and feet and a baseball bat so he wouldn't use self-defense. After getting the handcuffs on, Kristina began to have her way with Donnie. Donnie was incredibly uncomfortable with this situation and began to start crying in pain. Kristina told Donnie not to let her get the ball gag, as she was enjoying this too much.

Kristina's pleasure (and Donnie's pain) lasted until game time. With two bottles of Miller Lite, a bucket of popcorn and some menthols, Kristina began to watch the game while Donnie laid nearly motionless on the couch. Despite having to replace Donnie at the last minute, the Cardinals still won the game 8-6. After the game, it was time for more abuse. Kristina entered a Catwoman get-up and began to whip Donnie senselessly on her bed. After a few hours, Kristina entered bed with Donnie in her arms. In an uncompromising position, Donnie began to think about escaping as Kristina whispered in his ear, "Ball one".

Saturday morning. Donnie woke up at around 9:00 am. Hopping out of the bedroom, he found Kristina eating a bowl of cereal. The TV was on with the story that Donnie had gone missing. Donnie asked Kristina to take one pair of the handcuffs off as he had been in massive pain from the rape. Kristina ended up taking off the handcuffs and Donnie attempted to choke her in an attempt to incapacitate her. Kristina got out a taser and charged some voltage into him. Putting Donnie back to bed, Kristina activated a booby trap in the bedroom that would trip him and punch him with a projectile glove. Putting on a pink shirt and a short skirt, she went out of the apartment to buy liquor and whatever groceries needed to be had. Hailing a cab, she found the same driver as yesterday driving. There was also a passenger inside. As Kristina got inside the cab, the passenger introduced himself. His name was Orion Heathcliff, relief pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals. He then asked Kristina if she watched baseball and that if she had heard of a player named Donnie Alston. To play dumb, Kristina said that she didn't know who he was talking about. He then handed her a missing poster for him and told her to call for information. Orion then starts to play a game with Kristina where he reads people's minds. The first two times, he jokingly asks questions about if she is single and if she is going to the store. After getting those two questions right. He decides to do it for real. He puts his hand on her forehead. He begins to see some strange activity, a man fighting for his life and having all his dignity stolen from him. Orion takes his hand off. Kristina asks him where's wrong. Orion says that he'd rather not talk about it. Kristina coaxes him to ask and says that she's hiding a man in her apartment. Kristina once again plays dumb and says that was just a one-night stand. Deciding not to go any further, Orion says nothing else until Kristina gets to her stop. After she paid the fare, the cab driver notices her tattoos and realizes it's the same girl from yesterday. The driver then asks how he manages to do the mind-reading thing. Orion explains that he's Wiccan and that he learned it from his wife. The driver then asks what Orion saw. He tells the cab driver that he saw Donnie in her apartment. The driver doubts it at first, but then he remembers the man with Kristina. He remembers her tattoos. There was a match. But it couldn't possibly be Donnie. Orion and the cab driver soon made a dash for the police station to see what they could do.

Donnie finally emerged from the voltage at around 1:15 pm. Hopping out of the room, he hit the tripwire and got conked in the stomach. Crawling to the kitchen, he found that the middle of the floor there was rigged with a bear trap. He crawled to the living room and found an open hole of broken glass covered up by a rug. He then crawled to the door, thinking about scratching to get help. However he saw a laser a few feet near the door that if he crossed it, would trigger a gunshot from a large rifle. Realizing that his options were limited, he got up, found a baseball bat and triggered the bear trap with it. He then got into the pantry and found a jar of peanut butter. Unable to handle a spoon with cuffed hands, he had to eat the peanut butter with his hands. Later he found a remote and turned it on. Lots of baseball games on. Donnie started to feel depressed. He missed his friends on the diamond and thought he may never get to see them again as he was bound to die tomorrow.

Kristina came home at about 4:30 pm, seeing Donnie moping on the recliner. Kristina told him that he felt like she did when he stole the World Series. After she put up the groceries, she went to the bathroom to turn on the bathtub. Taking a belt from her closet, Kristina put the belt around Donnie's neck and pulled him to the bathroom. Bathing him due to his handcuffs, it was a combination of violence and eroticism. Donnie wasn't enthused but Kristina was loving the madness. After putting him in a soft, pink robe, Kristina started working on their dinner. She was making fettuccine alfredo and she also got a bottle of white wine for the occasion. They ate at 6:00 pm. Donnie toasted for safety. Kristina toasted for health. Both ate well and drank the entire bottle. During this time, Donnie seemed to develop Stockholm Syndrome as he was actually starting to enjoy being kidnapped. Or it was probably the wine talking. The two talked about their childhood, how they got interested in baseball and why they were here right now. They didn't even watch the game, a 5-2 Cardinals victory.

Sunday morning came. Kristina woke up early. Looking at her window, she saw the Chicago Police Department surrounding her building. The head of the Precinct had a bullhorn in his hand. He yelled for her to let Donnie out. Kristina asked how they knew she had him. Three witnesses, Samantha, Orion and the cab driver, all step forward. Kristina realizes what's going on and attempts to make a run for it. Failing to realize that trap near the front door was still rigged, the rifle ended up shooting Kristina's right ankle. Donnie was woke up by the gunshot and hopped into the main room to see what was going on. He looked out at the window and saw the people looking for him. This led the police to go inside to see what was going on. Kristina then yelled for him to her. Donnie then mentioned how he had a 0-2 count when he came here. He told her that she now had a 0-2 count for kidnapping him in a public place and then keeping herself open when she needed to be hidden. Getting shot was her third strike. He simply got another foul ball. The police knocked on the door and asked her to get out. Another gunshot was heard, leading the police to knock down the door. They saw Donnie standing, looking awestruck. The officer asked where the girl was. Donnie told them that she was right behind them. Deciding to avoid jail, Kristina shot herself in the head and was killed almost instantly. The ordeal was over after two days.

Donnie was back with the team that evening. He didn't play for the next week but returned as good as before, finishing the season with a .318 batting average and 40 home runs. He later wrote a memoir on the ordeal that he suffered during the two days. Orion got an endorsement deal for his ability to read minds. The cab driver still drives a cab. Samantha sold the bar and moved to Seattle with her husband. Kristina's behavior and suicide later inspired players to take precautions on baseball groupies. Some kept doing it but many stopped as they didn't want to meet the same fate as the White Sox Supergroupie.

It's just a game. It isn't life or death.

There's not much activity on this quiet Monday. The leaves on the trees are turning orange and the wind is a bitter cold that stings my bare skin. I step outside to get the mail. When I open the mailbox and find nothing, I soon realize that it is a holiday that there is no mail. I go back inside and try to fall asleep on the couch but can get absolutely no shut-eye. After about 20 minutes, I give up.

I get a phone call. A relative tells me to turn on the TV. I answer that I don't watch TV. The relative tells me that there is a zombie apocalypse beginning and that I should save myself. I laugh and hang up. I ask myself, "What's the next stupid thing that 4chan and Infowars will come up with?" I begin reading a book.

After about an hour of reading, I see a strange person walking about. Their skin was a dark green and he or she was looking rather rabid. I didn't carry a gun so I could avoid shooting what I didn't understand. I went outside.

Outside was mostly quiet. The only noise was the drooling of this creature, who walked like George Jefferson or Gamera. Maybe the creature was hungry. I went back inside and got a couple of apples from the pantry. When I returned, the creature was headed towards me. Now at this point, you'd say there is a cliche that this creature is one of the undead and was about to eat my brains or flesh and most of the time, one would be right. But maybe some of the undead just want fresh fruit. I handed the creature the apples and sent them away. Maybe the undead just wanted some directions to eat the brains of my neighbor. That jerk who never returned my lawnmower. Good riddance, neighbor.

Once the creature left, I returned inside to the quiet. I lit an aromatic candle to keep myself at peace, surrounded by nothing but serenity. Well, until the screams of my neighbor were heard. Oh well, it will stop in a couple minutes.