Truth Serum

"Honey, I'm home!" Alfred announced from the doorway.

There was no response. The white walls in the hall stared back at him in judgmental silence. Alfred closed the door and kicked off his shoes. Loosening his red tie, he walked forward to the kitchen where his wife usually was cooking up something irresistible. He could hear the water bubbling and a smile spread across his face. Hugging the wall, he crept up to the corner and jumped out into the kitchen. He stayed upright for a moment, before the slippery floor took him down. He crashed to the floor with a loud thud, landing mostly on his back.

"Ouch," Alfred strained to say.

He looked around and realized his wife wasn't there. Alfred picked himself up and pondered where she would be. She wouldn't have started food and not been here. The table was set for two and a covered saucepan was on the other burner. Maybe she was upstairs changing? Either way, he took this opportunity to sneak a peak at what she had in-store for him.

"Please be spaghetti!" Alfred said, lifting the saucepan cover to reveal a thicker white sauce. "Hot damn! Alfredo. What did I do to deserve a woman like you, Heather?"

Suddenly a muffled moaning came from downstairs. And not the good kind he was used to hearing. Without hesitation, Alfred sprung into action. He opened the pantry and plunged his hand into a box of Life Crunch cereal. When he removed his hand, he was holding a midnight black handgun, lightly dusted with crushed up flakes. It was Heather's idea to store a gun there in case of a burglary. Alfred had reservations about it at first, but mostly because she wanted to put it in his favorite cereal. Star Bangle Crunch cereal was a national treasure. A cereal that deserved the honor of being eaten, not used to store America's other favorite pastime.

Alfred rushed out of the kitchen and belted down the stairs. The basement was all cement walls and poured concrete floor. A single light dangled above the open space where an elderly man in a bright blue suit was tied to a rickety wood chair. Standing over the man, facing away from Alfred, was a woman with dark hair, wearing a faded white shirt and tight jeans. He didn't recognize the woman at all, until his eyes wandered down her body. He could recognize his wife's ass anywhere.

"Heather?" Alfred asked, hoping to confirm this strange woman wasn't his wife's butt double.

"Just one moment Alfred…" Heather said without turning around. "Alfred!"

Heather turned her back on the tied up man, trying to hide him from Alfred's view. Her hands were behind her back and she gave Alfred an innocent smile.

"Sweetie, I didn't realize you would be back so soon," Heather said.

"I...didn't realize you tied up old people in our basement."

"It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you are interrogating a...politician?" Alfred said, leaning to get another look at the elderly man. The elderly man had a little American flag pin on his suit collar.

Heather shrugged. "Okay, it is what it looks like."

"Why are you–wait–what did you think it looked like to me?"

"Nothing," her voice got all high and seemed to cringe in pain for a brief moment.

"Heather."

"I didn't want you to think I was cheating on you."

"That never entered my mind. Look at him," Alfred said, gesturing to the elderly man.

Heather turned her head to look at the elderly man. Liquid was dripping from the leg of his soiled black pants. He was shaking in the chair, trying to talk through the cloth that covered his mouth. His mumbled words needed some major translating.

"Do you mind if I wrap this up? He is getting chatty again," Heather asked.

"You need to let him go."

"Just need five minutes. Then I will finish dinner and we can talk about this."

"No, I need some answers.”

"Give me two minutes."

Alfred put his hands on his hips. "This isn't a negotiation."

"One minute and we have sex after."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. His eyes stared into her, unwilling to relent to her tantalizing promises.

"Fine. You're right." Heather sighed. "You deserve to know why I tied this man up in our basement and was going to inject him with a truth serum."

"A truth serum?"

"Fuck. Why did I say that?" Heather said to herself.

"So is that what's behind your back?"

"Yes," Heather said, shaking her head in frustration. "Damn it!"

"Show me.”

Heather revealed the syringe that was stuck in her arm and half gone. She stared at it in horror, while Alfred laughed.

"Did you just stick yourself with your own truth serum?"

"Yes–I mean–yes. Argghh!" Heather said, unable to lie.

Alfred tucked the gun in his pants and rubbed his hands together. The smile on his face was even bigger than when he found out alfredo was on the menu.

"Okay, why are you interrogating him?"

"So I can take down the US government," Heather said before she could cover her mouth with her hands.

"Why on Earth would you do that?" Alfred asked.

Heather mumbled her answer, trying her best to not let go of her mouth. Alfred pried her hands away, releasing her truth to the world.

"So I can take over the planet and rule as the Goddess of Earth."

"Why would you want to do that? Sounds like a big hassle."

"I...actually...don't know why," Heather said, surprised by her own admission.

Alfred stepped up to her and took her hand. He removed the syringe from her arm and tossed it across the room. Brushing her hair aside, he gazed into her hazel eyes. His focus was singular and unfazed by her extreme plans.

"Heather. You don't need to be the ruler of the entire free world. To me, you are perfect the way you are now. The best wife a man could ever ask for. Ruler over my heart."

A tear ran from Heather's eye. "You really mean that?"

"I do. I wouldn't have married you if I thought any less of you."

"Even after this?" Heather sniffed.

Alfred looked over to the elderly man who was rocking his chair, trying to escape. He returned his gaze to her and winked. "I always knew you were a little weird."

"I am not," Heather said with a smile and a gentle push.

"Fine. Kidnapping a politician to gain world dominance is not weird–" Alfred said before his gurgling stomach interrupted him. "I'm starving. How about we eat?”

"That sounds like a wonderful idea. It will help this serum wear off."

"What are we going to do with him?" Alfred asked, motioning to the elderly man.

The elderly man crashed to the floor and smacked his head against the concrete below. He didn't move after that and Heather shrugged, "I'll make him a serum to forget the last 24 hours."

"You can make that?"

Heather nodded her head and sprinted for the stairs, hoping to outrun his next question.

"Did you ever use it on me?" Alfred called to her.

"Yes."

"Heather! When did–"

"If you finish that question, I'm throwing out the alfredo."

Alfred went up the stairs, but never finished the question. Her alfredo was way too good to pass up.

When Pigs Fly

The turbine chugged and coughed black smoke as Pete wrenched on the propeller. Another failed attempt. Pete wiped the sweat from his brow and walked around the silver plane.

"David, how many times do I have to do this?" Pete asked, looking up at the masked pilot.

"Until she starts to buzz. At that point, you may not want to be in the way,” David said.

"I need to take a break."

"You can take a break when I'm in the air. You're on my time now, buster."

Pete nodded and turned around to hear the high pitch squeal of pork that had yet to be slaughtered. Holding the worming little pink dinner was none other than Father Harvey, dressed in his more casual attire.

"Father Harvey, I was worried you weren't going to make it," Pete said.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, Pete," Father Harvey said, struggling with the feisty pig.

"Good. Hand him up to David while I get this bird of his in the air."

Pete went back in front of the plane and raised the propeller far above his head. He pulled it down with all his might, contracting muscles he didn't realize he had. His back ached, but he knew it would all be worth it. The turbine made a different clunk sound before the propeller started spinning on its own.

"There we go!" Pete said, running off to the side.

Father Harvey was lifting the pig up to David, who kept it at arms reach.

"Where do I put him?" David asked.

"I don't know. You're the pilot," Father Harvey said.

The wheels started to roll in the dry dirt and the pig wiggled free from David's grasp, leaping into the cockpit. David panicked and the plane started to speed off down the runway. Father Harvey stood next to Pete and watched the plane zig zag before lifting in the air.

"See Father, I told you he could handle it," Pete said.

"I didn't get to bless the plane before he took off."

"That's okay. You blessed the pig, right?"

Father Harvey gave him the same look his mother did when he forgot to bring dessert for the family get-together. "Pete, I think David needs more protection than that pig."

"He went to confession last week. He'll be fine,” Pete said, admiring the aerial display.

The plane banked and twisted in the air, flying without a care in the world below the angelic clouds. From below, David was in his element. A master of his domain. The king of the sky. That perception did not match reality.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" David yelled, trying to get his plane under control. The pig stomped on his toes and tried to jump up, hitting his steering column. "Are you trying to get us killed?”

The pig squealed and planted its hooves into David's crouch. David's eyes closed and for a moment he thought he lost consciousness. The plane started to dive and with it Pete's chances at getting the love of his life.

While this battle in the sky took place, a woman wearing a dress seemingly dyed with sunflowers marched over to Pete and Father Harvey. "What are you two doing over here? We are waiting to say grace."

Pete turned to her. "Emily, you remember how you said you would marry me when pigs fly?"

"Yeah," she huffed.

"Well. What do you see up there?"

Emily looked up to see the plane diving toward the ground with a pig blocking David's face. She shook her head and walked away, letting out a deep sigh.

"Is that a no?" Pete called to her.

Father Harvey put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Sorry my son. You gave it your best shot."

"I suppose you're right. Better let David know he can stop…"

Pete's words were interpreted by the crash of a metal bird plunging into a solid oak tree. They turned around, witnessing the carnage. The plane engine was pushed in up to the cockpit and what was left of the propeller was dug into the dirt next to the crash. Smeared across the tree was blood and pieces of flesh.

"David!" Pete yelled.

David poked his head up from the cockpit and waved his brown cap above his head. "I'm okay."

Pete turned to Father Harvey. "See, you should've blessed the pig."

Obsession

"I can't believe it." Billy scrolled through the never ending pictures of himself on his crush's phone. "She's...obsessed with me.”

"BS,” Devin said, trying to grab the phone away from him. 

Billy moved down a seat at the cafeteria table. "I'm serious."

"If you were so serious, why are you hiding the proof from me?”

"I don't want you wreaking her phone," Billy said, tapping on a picture of himself getting dressed in his room. He turned it toward Devin, careful to keep the phone out of his friend's reach. "See?”

"You never said you two hung out?"

"We never have."

Devin grabbed the apple off of Billy's lunch tray. "So how did she get a picture of you inside your own house?"

"Not sure, but does it matter? Clearly she is into me."

"Maybe a little too much into you, don't you think?" Devin said, crunching into his apple.

"Nonsense. She's just–"

"A stalker," Devin interrupted.

"She is not."

"I call it how I see it.”

"Well not for long. I'm asking her out," Billy said, placing the phone on the table.

"That's a really bad idea, but then again, so was stealing her phone. Maybe I'm wrong though and you two are meant to be with each other." Devin threw the half eaten apple at Billy. 

"You're just jealous Sandra doesn't give you the time of day," Billy said, putting the phone in his pocket and picking up the apple. 

"Sandra at least respects my privacy."

"She sure does. Gives you plenty of space."

"Rather have a woman not interested in me than...whatever that is," Devin said, gesturing to Billy's pocket.

Billy ignored him, taking his tray and walking to the other side of the cafeteria. The dull grey tiles squeaked under his shoe, yet drew no attention from the rest of the students eating and joking at the other tables. He was on a mission. To ask out Jeanie. Confidence was not in short supply as he marched up to her table. The two girls Jeanie was sitting with got up to dump their trays, leaving Billy the perfect opportunity to enact his plan.

"Hey there Jeanie."

"Hey Billy. How's it going?" Jeanie said, playing with her ponytail. 

"It's going well. Say, I think I found your phone,” Billy said, taking out the phone from his pocket.

"Oh my gosh! I have been looking everywhere for it. Thank you so much, Billy. You are such a great guy."

Billy handed her the phone. "Well I think you are a great gal."

Jeanie blushed and held her phone close to her chest, partially hiding the ACDC logo on her shirt. Billy leaned in closer, causing her to gaze into his hazel eyes. 

"I like your shirt. Maybe I could take you to see them sometime? Say this Saturday?" Billy asked in a soothing voice that he himself didn't know he possessed.

"I...I would like that Billy," Jeanie said, not breaking eye contact with him. 

"Great. I'll pick you up at eight," Billy said and walked away. 

Jeanie watched him walk away with the stride of a runway model. She bit her lip trying not to squeal out of excitement. Once he was out of sight, she quickly unlocked her phone and was greeted with an enlarged picture of Billy getting dressed. A maniacal grin stretched across her face. 

"Billy Kennedy McGuire. I got you right where I want you.”

Got To Get To Work

Donavan hung up the corded phone on the wall. "Do you mind if I make another call?"

The guard pushed off the wall he was leaning against. "No more calls. Back to your cell."

Donavan sighed. "I thought so."

Once the guard put his hands on Donavan, it was all over. In a flash, Donavan grabbed the phone and wrapped the cord around the guard's neck. He started clicking away at the buttons, while struggling with the guard. The phone rang, giving Donavan some time to restrain his new friend. He kicked out the guard's feet and pinned him against the wall. 

"Hello, who is this?" a voice asked from the phone.

Donavan pushed the phone to his ear. "Karen, please don't hang up!"

"You have some nerve calling me."

"I know. I know. But listen. I need a pickup."

"You have one. Use your own." 

"No. Like I need you to pick me up."

"Why should I do that?" Karen scoffed.

The guard beat his hands against the wall, making a slapping sound. Donavan could hear keys jingling outside the door.

"I will owe you one."

The line was quiet for a moment. Donavan was unsure if she was thinking or put him on hold. He was more focused on the men pounding on the door. 

"Well?" Donavan asked, unable to conceal his impatience.

"Fine. I need to get my coat and let Mr. Kellogg know where I'm going–"

"No time. Come quickly," Donavan said as the door opened with two guards funneling in. 

"Where are you this time?"

"Jail. The close one." Donavan said and hung up.

The guard wrapped in the phone cord was on the brink of unconsciousness. Two guards came at them with batons at the ready. Donavan dodged one of the swings while taking the other in the shoulder. Lightning shot through his whole arm, but he had no time to dwell on it. With his good hand, he slapped the phone off the hook and into the guard that hit him. That distraction gave Donavan enough time to kick the other guard still standing and make a break for the closing door. Hopping through the narrow opening, he left the guards in his wake. 

His next obstacle was the grey, unloving walls that flanked him as he ran down the hall. He kept his head on a swivel, trying to find a viable way out. At the end of the hall stood an older female officer with her taser drawn. Her uniform fit well, proving not all officers ate donuts all day. There was no running from this one.

"Donavan. Don't make this any harder on me," the officer shouted.

"I have to go to work. My boss will fire me if I'm not there."

The officer closed the distance. Her boots moved across the cement floor with a purpose, spewing authority for all to hear.

"Hands up! If you cooperate I might be able to smooth things over with the warden," the officer said, grabbing her handcuffs. 

"What about my boss?"

"Nothing I can do about that, kiddo."

Donavan looked above his head and saw an exposed ceiling with a wide pipe that lead somewhere. He had heard there was construction being done on the jail, but never figured he would get to see it. Looking back at the officer, he knew what he had to do.

"Don't you do it!" the officer ordered. 

Her order fell on deft ears. Donavan sprung off the walls and up onto the pipe. The officer aimed her taser, but Donavan was quick to hide his body behind the pipe. Not wasting time, Donavan crawled along the pipe into the darkness of the ceiling. He could not see, so he trusted the pipe to guide his way. The pipe led him up to the second floor, which at this point was the roof of the building. Scaffolding and various building supplies surrounded him on the top of the roof. He disembarked the pipe and ran to the edge of the roof. Below him was a faded red pickup truck pulling into the parking lot stall closest to him.

Donavan took a few steps back before running toward the edge. He leaped off the roof and bounced off the top of the hood. Donavan felt a crack in his back followed by a sudden shriek that dwarfed the sound of metal being pushed in by his weight. He crawled to his feet and entered the passenger's side of the vehicle, much to the shock of the woman in the truck.

"Donavan, what the hell was that!" Karen said.

"Drive please."

"You said you needed to be picked up. Not a getaway driver."

Donavan buckled his seatbelt. "Please, let's go."

The alarms outside sounded and Karen peeled out of there. They traveled down a few winding streets until they arrived at their destination, Hardford General. The four story building was an eyesore. Concrete walls painted to look like natural wood. After years of weathering, it looked more like smeared diarrhea.

Karen threw the vehicle into park, causing both of them to lurch forward. "Are you going to tell me why you got arrested?"

"Nope," he said, pulling on the handle.

Donavan pushed against the door, but it would not budge. He pulled the silver rod to unlock the door, but it went back down again with a clunk. Donavan looked over to see Karen holding down the lock button.

"I'm not letting you leave until you tell me," Karen said.

"I'm not good at following 'lawful' orders. Is that enough for you?" Donavan said, rolling down the window.

"No, it's not. You need to tell me what happened."

Donavan didn't wait to hear her reply, crawling out the window of her truck. He slapped the ground with his hands and feet before taking off like a sprinter into the building. Karen shook her head.

"This better be a good favor," Karen said.

Donavan kicked in the door to the third floor conference room where Mr. Kellogg was moments from smashing his laptop into the conference room table. The charging cable was still plugged in, running above his head, where he froze in place. 

"Donavan? Thank God you're here! Where have you been?" Mr. Kellogg asked, lowering his laptop.

"I was–”

"Doesn't matter. Maybe I can still salvage this. How do I login to this conference call?" Mr. Kellogg said, opening his laptop. 

Donavan walked around the table and instructed him how to login. It was as simple as clicking the link, entering his name, and clicking connect. Mr. Kellogg gave a toothy smile at his screen, hearing people on the other end.

"Do you have the presentation?" Mr. Kellogg asked, covering his webcam.

"It is in your email."

"Pull it up for me," Mr. Kellogg said, pushing the laptop toward him. 

Donavan clicked through Mr. Kellogg's email until he found it in the deleted folder. He pulled up the presentation and minimized it so Mr. Kellogg could still see the people on the screen. 

"You're good to go." Donavan slid the laptop back to him. 

"Good job, Donavan. We might just save this company yet."

"What did you say Mr. Kellogg?" a voice said from the laptop.

"Nothing, Mr. Terrance. I was just speaking to my best employee, Donavan Santelli. He worked so hard on this proposal. I think you will like it,” Mr. Kellogg said, giving Donavan a thumbs up. 

Donavan breathed an air of relief that his boss's anger was gone. It was also the first time his boss gave him a compliment. After all these years working for him, his luck was starting to turn around. That was until the door opened again. Standing in the doorway was Karen and the female officer. 

"One moment,” Mr. Kellogg said, putting his hand over the webcam again. "Can I help you, officer?"

"No. I'm here for Donavan Santelli. Put your hands behind your back. You are under arrest," the officer said. 

"Really? At my place of work?" Donavan said.

"You left me no choice. Hands behind your back," the officer said. 

Donavan obeyed her commands and she slapped the cuffs on him. He looked at his boss who was shaking his head at him. His future at the company went from one of promise to one of poverty.

"What is going on? Is someone being arrested?" the same voice asked from the laptop.

"Oh no. Just people playing a video outside the room." Mr. Kellogg responded. "Karen, can you close the door."

The officer led him out of the room, while Karen closed the door behind them.

"Don't worry, I will talk with Mr. Kellogg," Karen said.

"Thanks Karen. I appreciate it,” Donavan said.

"Keep moving," the officer ordered.

Donavan was led out of the building and to the officer's squad car. She opened the backdoor. "Watch your head."

"Screw you, Malory!" Donavan said. 

The officer slammed his head into the top of the doorframe and pushed his body inside. She leaned over him, close enough to smell the syrup on her breath. 

"You will not disrespect me again. You call me Officer Santelli when I'm on duty. You understand?"

Donavan winced in pain. "Yeah I got it. God Mom!"

"You're lucky I was the one who arrested you."

"Why? So you can have the privilege of putting us both in jail? Maybe we can share the same cell."

"You are not your father!"

"From where I'm sitting, I might as well be,” Donavan said.

"When we get back to the jail, you don't say anything. You have no idea what kind of favors I had to pull to let your last stunt go unnoticed."

"And the charge against me?"

"Defense attorney's love when an officer screws up her paperwork. You'll be fine assuming you don't do anything stupid."

The officer closed the door and walked around to the driver's side door. She held the handle and took a deep breath. "The things I do for my kids."

Too Much Power

Matthew stood at the altar of his problems. Before him two women were torn to shreds, blood splattered everywhere in his hotel room. The carpet was crimson and the walls were like abstract paintings if they only used different shades of red. This was the consequence of making anyone he pointed to fall in love with him. At first it was fun. He could get any woman he wanted. A model. Actress. His crush from college. No one or thing was off limits, free to live out his own fantasies with whomever he chose. That was until his lovers all caught up with him.

He was out one night at a celebrity ball with a beautiful model he met at a hotel, when he ran into Hannah Soreno, a famous actress he was with only a few weeks ago.

“Matty, who is this?” Hannah asked.

“Oh hi, Hannah. This is–” Matthew said.

“Patricia. His girlfriend,” Patricia interrupted, extending her hand.

“Um Matty. Why are you with this skank?” Hannah asked Matthew.

“Who are you calling skank, you whore!” Patricia said.

“Matty. Come on. This woman can’t possibly be worth your time,” Hannah said, pulling him away from Patricia.

“Matthew can be with whoever he wants to.” Patricia pushed Hannah.

That was all it took and a brawl ensued. Extensions were flying in the air as the two wrestled on the floor. Matthew stood there unsure what to do while another woman in a silk black dress grabbed him by the arm, taking him away from the fight. She dragged him over to the food table and spun him toward her. It was his crush from college, Gretchen.

“Gretchen? What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from those crazy women. Obviously.”

“Well thanks. I appreciate it. I didn’t realize you were going to be here.”

“A little birdy told me you would be here,” she said, shaking her pink phone at him.

“I didn’t tweet it out.”

“No silly. I track your phone.”

“Um…”

“Let’s get out of here. I know a place much more...comfortable,” Grechen said, running her finger down his tie.

“Um…what about those two?” Matthew asked, pointing to the women still locked in combat.

“They will never love you like I can. Come on. I’ll show you,” she said, taking his hand again and whisking him away.

They left the ball and stopped at the top of the stairs of the exit. At the base of the stairs was a wall of women, all of whom Matthew had used his power on at some point. One of the women stepped forward into the light.

“Unhand our man!” Maddie said, pointing at Gretchen.

“He is not your man!” Gretchen said.

“We’ll see about that. Charge!” Maddie said, pointing at her.

The rest of the women ran up the stairs toward them. Gretchen pulled Matthew back into the party. They pushed through the crowd of people, passing Hannah who was bashing Patricia’s skull in with a serving platter. This was all a lot for Matthew to process, but he kept up with Gretchen, who was at least trying to get him out of this ever escalating situation. They got past the crowd and went into the adjoining hotel. She pulled him toward the front desk, when Matthew grabbed her wrist and pulled the opposite way.

“I have a place upstairs. We can hide there,” Matthew said, pulling her along.

They went down a hall and up the stairwell to the fifth floor. The echoes of the rabid women still followed them up the stairwell. They got to the top and went three doors down to room 508. He swiped his key card rapidly in front of the sensor. It kept beeping and a red dot appeared above the knob.

“Hurry,” Gretchen said.

He kept doing it until it beeped and the color changed to green. He pushed the door open and closed the door behind Gretchen. Matthew backed into the untouched room while Gretchen kept her ear to the door. The women gathered outside in the hall, all upset that they lost him.

“I can’t believe you lost him,” one of the women said.

“Me? I beat you up here and I am in heels. What’s your excuse?” another woman responded.

“Ladies. Ladies. We didn’t lose him. He is obviously hiding. Playing hard to get was always his style,” Maddie said and the rest of the women nodded in agreement. Maddie pulled out a handful of key cards from her purse.

“Everyone take one and split up. Whoever gets him is worthy of his love.”

Most of the women grabbed their card and went back into the stairwell to go searching at the other levels. Only Maddie and Sandra stayed on the fifth floor.

“I don’t mind sharing if you don’t?” Sandra offered.

“It’s a deal.”

They both went to the doors on each side of the hall and went inside. When they were done searching they called each room clear and went to the next.

“They will be here any second. Quick, look sexy on the bed,” Gretchen said, pushing him on the king-sized bed.

“What?”

“I’m going to hide in the closet. You distract them with your hunkiness and I will take them out from behind.”

“Wait? Distract them. Hunkiness?” Matthew asked.

Gretchen closed the closet just as the door beeped. Maddie opened the door and saw Matthew sitting on the bed.

“He’s in here,” Maddie called out to Sandra from the entrance.

They both came inside the room and closed the door. Sandra peeked her head in the dark bathroom while Maddie went up to the closet.

“Maddie. I thought you were here for me. Not my empty closet,” Matthew said, trying to play it cool.

She stopped short of opening it and ran her fingernails across it instead. “You sure are right, baby.”

Sandra came out from the bathroom and waved with her fingers at him. They both approached him from two sides, licking their ruby red lips. In a normal situation he would be thrilled, but this was getting out of hand.

“So Matthew, who do you choose? Me or Sandra?” Maddie asked.

“He chooses me, you whores!” Gretchen said, jumping out of the closet with a knife in each of her hands. She dispatched them so fast Matthew blinked and almost missed it. What he would have given to blink slower. When she was done, she bounded to the door, blood dripping from her blades.

“I’m not done yet. Not till they are all gone and you are safe. Stay put. I’ll be back.” Gretchen blew him a kiss as she left.

His head was spinning. He had two dead women in his hotel room and there were sure to be more bodies by the end of the night. All because he wanted what he was never supposed to have. Love was supposed to be developed, nurtured. Not conjured out of thin air. What he had to do next took a lot of willpower, but he knew there was no other way. He went into the bathroom and found his night pack. Inside, he pulled out an extra shaver blade and lined it up with his pointer finger on the tabletop next to the sink.

“Come on Matthew. The Yakuza can do it. So can you,” he said to himself.

He took a few rapid short breaths and slammed the blade with his palm into his pointer finger, searing it clean off. He screamed in pain and fell back onto the floor as blood leaked out the end. The blade slid on the floor next to him, but he did not have the will to do his other finger. The door beeped and Gretchen came back inside, covered head to toe in her victim’s blood.

“Matthew! What happened!” she said, falling to her knees next to him. She held his hand in hers, trying to comfort him.

“I tried to cut it off.”

“Why?”

“I was the cause of all this. This finger is the reason I have an army of women after me,” Matthew said, trying to pick up his finger.

“What are you talking about? The blood loss must be getting to you.”

“No. I have this power. The power to make anyone fall in love with me by just pointing at them.”

“Yep. You must be going into shock. I’ll get you a towel.”

“I’m serious. Your feelings you have for me aren’t real. I used my power on you. Think about it. Did you ever have feelings for me before we got together?”

“Yes.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. Ever since I saw you in that psychology class. Third row with that dorky backpack. What a nerd you were. My whole notebook for that class is just pictures of you with your name written all over it.”

“But–”

“I was always hoping you were going to ask me out, but my friends all told me to play hard to get. Hell, even my counselor told me not to date anyone. That I need to work on myself. Take my medicine. Blah blah blah.”

“So...my powers...didn’t work.”

“Nope. And nothing in this world is going to take me away from you. Not even those psycho bitches.”

She hugged him tight and he stared ahead. It was more terrifying than he had thought. This woman wasn’t crazy because of him. She was crazy all by herself.

***

Bread Rocket

“I think I misheard you. You want to send bread into space?” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said.

“No Mr. Banaszkiewicz, I want to send a rocket made of bread to space. It is completely different,” Barry said, adjusting his spectacles. 

“Let me get this straight, you want me to abandon years of innovation and peer reviewed research to send a bread rocket into space?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Banaszkiewicz pondered his proposal, looking down at the documents Barry had provided on the table. Mr. Banaszkiewicz’s advisor had a concerned look on his face.

“You aren’t really taking this man’s proposal seriously? A bread rocket? What, is it powered by butter?” the advisor said to Mr. Banaszkiewicz. 

“The prototype was. Well it was diesel fuel, but butter was one of the ingredients in the biofuel. Worked pretty well, but I was thinking of something more traditional for thrust.”

“Like what? Marinara sauce,” the advisor said.

“Alright you two. I have heard enough,” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said. “Mr. Nowak, we will fund your proposal.” 

“WHAT!”

“Thank you Mr. Banaszkiewicz, you won’t regret this,” Barry said and left the conference room.

“Mr. Banaszkiewicz, you can’t be serious?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. We have failed at everything else. President Duda needs us to succeed.”

“Why not just contact the Americans? Or the Chinese? They could help us out.”

“I think they may be part of the problem. Convenient that all our previous launches have failed, even after our rigorous checks showed nothing wrong. And besides, who is going to sabotage a bread rocket?

“It sabotages itself by even being an idea.”

“We will see.”

***

Seven Months Later - Big Launch Day

“Is everything ready Mr. Nowak?” Mr. Banaszkiewicz asked, with his advisor by his side.

“Ready as she’ll ever be,” Barry said, searching through his white lab coat. 

Behind Barry was a giant loaf of bread the size of a four story building. The light brown rocket glowed in the sun. From a distance, it looked quite tasty with its puffy design. Barry found the white remote he was looking for when a chef walked in.

“The bread is at optimum temperature, Mr. Nowak. We are ready to launch when you are,” the chef said.

“Excellent! Mr. Banaszkiewicz, do you want to do the honors?” Barry offered.

“No, you can do it,” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said.

“Alright, let's toast this loaf,” Barry said, pressing the button on the remote.

Flames shot out from underneath the bread and thick clouds of smoke pumped all around. The rocket lifted into the air, clearing the smoke with ease. Crumbs fell off the side of the ship and the bottom was starting to get dark brown, but the rocket kept going. Higher in the sky it went and Mr. Banaszkiewicz could not believe his eyes.

“It’s working. It's actually working!” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said, craning his neck to watch the rocket. His advisor too was shocked that Barry’s rocket didn’t end up as a pile of burnt toast.

They all turned to the monitor next to them to watch the rest of the footage from the bread rocket. The loaf’s bottom portion turned black from the intense heat, but nonetheless was still on a good trajectory until it broke past the atmosphere and into the vacuum of space.

“All systems are nominal. Rocket is in orbit,” a voice said from the monitor.

“I can’t believe it. It actually worked,” Mr. Banaszkiewicz said.

“Of course it did. Now time for Phase 2,” Barry said, searching for the next button to click on his remote.

“Phase 2?” the advisor asked.

Barry clicked the button and the bread turned toward the moon. Its engine lit up again and flew toward the moon.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to land the bread on the moon.”

“Why?” Mr. Banaszkiewicz asked.

“Bread and cheese go together well.”

The rocket went faster than anyone could have expected, already reaching the moon before Mr. Banaszkiewicz could explain the flaw in his logic. The bread smashed into the moon, shattering into millions of frozen pastries. Barry's mouth hung open, devastated by this outcome.

“I...thought the moon was made of cheese. You lied to me…” Barry said, not to anyone in particular.

“Who told you the moon was made of cheese?” the advisor said, flabbergasted by his childish understanding of the solar system.

“Wallace and Gromit. How could you do this to me?”

What a Date!

Quiet conversations blended together with the soothing sound of the piano that played in the middle of the dimly lit room. A waiter weaved between the tables in his darker than black suit and bow tie, arriving at a table of two who were lost in each other’s eyes.

“Lobster Thermidor and Lamb Shank,” the waiter said, placing their meals in front of them.

“Thank you. If it isn’t too much trouble, can we get another glass of wine for the lady?” the man asked the waiter.

“Certainly Sir,” the waiter said and left them.

The woman took her napkin and placed it over her lap, to protect her scarlet dress. “Kenneth, if I didn’t know any better you are trying to get me drunk?”

“Of course not. I saw that your glass is getting low and the lobster is best with something red.”

The woman swirled the wine in her glass and downed it in one fast shot, staring straight into his brown eyes after, which dilated for a split second.

“You didn’t expect me to do that, did you?” she said, brushing her light brown hair away from her ear, revealing a dangling diamond earring.

“You are full of surprises, Gwen.”

“You have no idea.”

They had just begun to take their first bites, before three masked men with guns started slinking in from the far side of the room. Silverware clattered against plates and a woman screamed upon seeing the armed men. The music stopped and before people could scatter a gunshot went off.

“Everybody stay where you are! If you run, you die!” one of the masked men said.

The other two weaved around the tables, clearly looking for someone in particular. Kenneth drew his Walther PPK from his jacket while Gwen drew her Glock from her purse when the two masked men got close. The two masked men pointed their guns at them, surprised that two civilians would be armed at such a fancy place.

“Drop your weapons. I would hate to ruin a perfectly good date on the count of you two,” Kenneth said.

“He said drop them, scumbags!” Gwen said, standing up and toward the armed men with purpose.

Kenneth did a double take, realizing she was armed. “Gwen, you have a gun?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing?”

“I live a dangerous life. Fine art collections can get a little...complicated, but you? Do you even work for the State Department?”

“I thought it was obvious. Every spy who ever lived says they work for the State Department. Haven’t you watched a movie?” Gwen responded.

“I figured that was only in the movies. And that spies in real life wouldn’t be so drop dead gorgeous,” Kenneth said, a little frantic.

Before Gwen could fawn over Kenneth’s charming words, a gunshot went off behind them along with more feminine screams. Kenneth and Gwen turned their heads around to see the third mask man standing next to a large bald man who was slumped over the table, blood seeping into the white tablecloth.

“He’s dead. Let’s go!” the masked man said, taking a picture with his phone to confirm the kill.

By the time Kenneth and Gwen turned their heads back to their more immediate threat, two more gunshots went off. They both fell to the floor, holding their stomachs’. The three masked men ran off, leaving Kenneth and Gwen on the floor, laying on their side facing each other.

“I...didn’t expect the date to end like this,” Kenneth said, coughing up blood.

“Me neither,” Gwen said, straining from the pain.

“If we get out of this...I would like...to see you again.”

“Me too.”

Kenneth slid his hand across the floor, smearing blood in the carpet. She grabbed onto his hand with a weak grip. A crowd of people surrounded them while someone dialed 911. The waiter kneeled beside them to render aid.

“I see we have a couple of heroes. I hope you two learned your lesson,” the waiter said, putting pressure on Kenneth’s wound.

“What was that supposed to be?” Kenneth asked, straining from the pain.

“Don’t be a hero? I thought it was obvious.”

The Warlord Provider

The sun was high in the sky and white cloud floated above, smiling down upon the land. The land, however, did not smile back. Dust and blood was all that laid on the barren land. My people were almost done loading the bodies into the trucks while I lit another cigar with a magnifying glass. It was one of my many talents, alongside organizing military strikes and earning the trust of my soldiers. I let out a little puff of smoke, reminding me of my daughter’s favorite animal, a dragon.

She was the reason I even bothered to kill people in the first place. Ever since her mother died, it had been difficult to get her to eat anything. She was growing weary and everywhere I went, I failed to find a chef able or willing to feed my daughter. A month ago I thought I was close. She would eat most of the meals Boris would make for her, but he had to go and sleep with my new girlfriend. If a man is that dumb, he could never last in my company.

I walked across the deserted land to a single clay home. No bullet holes pierced the dwelling, nor did anyone try to even run to it during the battle. I entered the dwelling and found a young man no older than seventeen. He wore nothing but brown shorts, but was more nourished than the rest I had slaughtered. The man was hunched over a kettle, breathing in the delicious fumes.

“What are you doing?” I asked the young man.

“I am cooking. Would you consider sparing my life, if I share my meal?”

I walked halfway out of the small dwelling and waved at one of my soldiers. He came at once, bringing my daughter with him. The braids in her hair were almost thicker than her arms, and hardly a shade darker than her skin. Watching her come toward me brought both great happiness and pain. If she did not eat soon I knew I would lose her. The last real thing I had in this world.

“Leave us,” I told my soldier and took my daughter’s bony hand.

Together we went inside and the young man was scooping small golden tubes out of the kettle. They stuck together like the conjugated blood of my enemies, filling the bowl. He put a wood spoon in the bowl and handed it to me.

“Alright sweetie, try this,” I said, crouching down to her.

My daughter took a sniff of the golden food and grabbed the spoon. She ate a spoonful and her face lit up like I hadn’t seen since her mother was around.

“Yum! This is tasty!”

I couldn’t have been more thrilled. A food she finally liked. I had to know the secret.

“Young man, what is this and how do you make it?”

“It’s Mac and Cheese. You just add noodles and melted cheese.”

“Could you repeat this every time if you had those ingredients?”

“From scratch? No. I follow the instructions on the box,” he said, holding up a blue box that said Kraft on it.

“Who is Kraft? Where can I find him?”

“You can find it in town, a few miles north of here. You can even keep my last box. Just follow the instructions and it will taste the same every time,” he said, giving me his last box. His words were music to my ears.

No more professional chefs. I read the words on the box and it was clear to understand. Bring water to boil, add the contents from the box, stir. Even my soldiers could make food for her, it was that simple. All I needed was a kettle and something to heat it with. I looked at the box in my hand like my soldiers looked at gold. For me, this was more than gold. It was the key to my daughter’s future. I smiled at her while she gobbled up the rest of her food. Everything was gone, down to the last noodle. I knew my quest was not over and that my daughter would be hungry again, but I finally had hope in my grasp and I wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.

Santa Claus in April

“Honey, get the bat,” Eve whispered, shaking her husband awake in their bed.

“Huh, what’s going on.” Jake rubbed his eyes.

“There is someone downstairs.”

Jake threw the blanket off and rolled out of bed. He grabbed the Louisville Slugger that was leaning against the window sill and left the room. Jake peeked downstairs to see a red butt sticking out his fireplace, legs trying to push his fat body up. Jake ran down the stairs and wound up. With a golf swing, he smashed the stuck man right in-between the legs.

“Ho. Ho. Oh,” the stuck man groaned and slid out of the fireplace. He held his groin and rolled around in pain. The man was dressed like Santa Claus, except his white beard was black from the soot in the chimney.

“If you don't want to get hit again, I suggest you start talking,” Jake said.

“Jake, please. Don’t hit me again!”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Santa Claus. I know everyone.”

“Sure you are. And I’m the Easter Bunny,” Jake said, winding up again.

“No Jake! I gave you a red bike on your tenth birthday. Schwinn with little black tassels on the handlebars.”

Jake lowered his bat a little. “How did you know that?”

“I’m Santa Claus. How many times do I have to say it?”

Jake stood there, with his bat still at the ready.

“What’s going on down there?” Eve called from the bedroom.

“This guy claims to be Santa Claus.”

Fast footsteps came rushing from the room. Eve turned on the lights and looked downstairs. Santa Claus was on the ground still holding his groin.

“Uncle Greg!” Eve said and flew down the stairs.

“Uncle Greg?” Jake said to himself.

Eve jumped on Santa Claus and gave him a big hug. Her blue bunny pajamas clashed with his red suit. Jake lowered his bat and scratched his head.

“Um...Eve. Who is Greg?” Jake asked.

“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. Uncle Greg is Santa Claus,” she said.

“I didn’t know you and Jake were together,” Santa Claus said to Eve.

“If you would come to our family get-togethers you would have known. Don’t you get mail at the North Pole?” Eve said.

“Yes, but it is really only relevant to kids. Names, naughty and nice lists, work stuff. I’m going to have to have a chat with my head elf about my missing mail again.”

“Why are you here now? It’s the middle of April.”

“I was looking to find a place to crash for the next few months.”

“Why? What happened?”

“There was a fire at my place and the elves won’t let me stay in the production facility. I tried to reach out to my wife, but we are not on speaking terms right now.”

Eve crossed her arms. “What happened?”

“It was an honest mistake. I thought I was home. There was snow everywhere when I came flying in.”

“What did you do?”

“The lights were out and the door was unlocked. I walked in and went up the stairs to go to bed. Once I crawled under the covers it went from sleepy time to sexy time. I didn’t know she wasn’t my wife until she said something.”

“You didn’t notice it was a different house?”

“All houses seem the same to me after awhile. And your aunt hasn’t touched me in so long I forgot what she felt like.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I believe it,” Jake said.

“Don’t you go defending him!” Eve said to Jake.

“Eve, give your uncle a break. He is Santa Claus.”

“More like Pervy Claus.”

“I’m sorry I came. I’ll just be going now,” Santa Claus said, sitting up.

“No, you're not. You are welcome to stay here while your house is being repaired,” Jake said.

Eve’s eyes got so big they almost jumped out of her skull. “Jake–”

“Can you excuse us for a minute?” Jake said to Santa Claus, cutting Eve off and pulling her aside.

“He is not staying here,” Eve whispered furiously.

“He is family.”

“But he cheated on Aunt Margaret.”

“And he is still paying for that mistake. Besides, his story sounds plausible.”

“So you just want me to forgive him? Forget he cheated on my aunt?”

“Yeah. Sure it's not ‘tis the season’, but your uncle is reaching out for help. How would you feel if you needed help and your own family wouldn’t help you out?”

Eve glared at Jake, her arms tense at her side and hands balled into a fist that could crush tin cans. It lasted a few seconds before she let go of her anger.

“Fine. I’ll try. But don’t expect me to forget about what he did.”

Jake kissed her on the forehead. “That’s the wonderful gal I know.”

She smiled, taking comfort in the fact that her husband was nothing like the cheater that was standing in her living room. They both turned back to Santa Claus to give him their verdict.

“Alright you can stay. But you will have to sleep on the couch,” Eve said.

“Thank you! Thank you! I promise to get your kids extra nice gifts.”

“We don’t have any kids,” Jake said.

“Not yet,” Santa Claus said, winking at Eve.

Jake turned to Eve. “What is he talking about?”

“I didn’t want to tell you unless I was sure. And I forgot my uncle here always had a knack for telling when a woman was pregnant.”

“So you're pregnant?” Jake said, smiling ear to ear.

“I guess so.”

Jake and Eve embraced each other. Santa Claus stood there unsure what he was supposed to do. Jake put his head to hers.

“This is so exciting! Having a kid of our own,” Jake said.

“Six,” Santa Claus corrected.

Jake and Eve looked at him. “Six?”

“Yeah. I felt six in there. Ultrasound won’t pick that up at this stage, but I assure you there will be six,” Santa Claus said.

“Your uncle doesn’t happen to be wrong from time to time?” Jake asked Eve.

“I have never seen him wrong before,” Eve said.

“Then we’re gonna to need a bigger house.”

Billionaire Brain Film Crew

"Are you getting this?" Jason said.

His body jerked back and forth as the yellow dog robot tried to buck him off it’s back. Jason held on with one hand, waving his baseball cap like a buckaroo. The crowd of boxes in the warehouse watched without emotion, perched perfectly still on their shelves.

"Yeah I am!" Ken said, with his eyes locked onto the small screen in front of him that was capturing the action.

The robot bucked him a few more times and spun around, launching Jason into a cluster of boxes on the floor. He rolled off the smashed boxes and grunted when he slapped the solid floor.

"That was awesome! Can you do that again? I want to get some more coverage."

The robot shook its body and trotted off down the row of boxes.

"I take it that is a no from Spot," Jason said, brushing himself off.

"I wonder what other cool stuff Bezos dreams about?"

Ken helped Jason up and they wandered down the rows of shelves in the large warehouse. They traveled for a few minutes until Ken turned off the camera.

"Why did you turn it off?"

"It's just endless rows of shelves and cardboard boxes. When we find something more interesting I will turn it back on.”

"What if you miss something cool?"

"What if I run out of space on the drive because I filmed four hours of boxes?"

Then a box fell from one of the shelves. It crashed into the ground and whatever was inside sounded like glass shattering. Ken fumbled with his camera while Jason approached the deformed box. The tape on top was still holding and the Amazon smile was facing him. Jason crouched down and reached his hand out to touch it.

The box rumbled and shards of broken blue plates jutted out of the box. Two of the pieces came out circular and flat against the box to form eyes above the mouth.

"Well. Well. Well. What do we have here? A couple of meatbags," the spiked box said.

"Woah! It can talk," Jason said. 

Ken stepped to the side of Jason and pointed his camera at the box creature. His smile peaked underneath the camera, knowing this was the footage they were looking for.

"You have some nerve coming down here," the box said.

"What are you talking about Mr. Box?" Jason asked.

The box's shards protruded farther out. "How dare you call me Mister!”

Jason backed up. "I'm sorry."

"Oh you're not sorry. Not yet."

The box grew two legs and arms. Both black and thin like stick cartoons. The box snapped its newly grown fingers and boxes from both sides of the aisle fell to the floor. They too grew legs and arms. Their contents also protruded halfway through their cardboard skin, each one different from the next.

One of the boxes with ripped up teddy bears sticking through it pointed at them. "Get them!”

Jason and Ken ran while the sea of demented boxes made chase. Around them, more boxes fell from the shelves like a waterfall. Over the loud noise of products being smashed in every direction, the shaking of maracas grew louder and faster behind them. Ken looked over his shoulder to see a box with a sombrero gaining on them ahead of the rest.

"They're gaining!" Ken yelled ahead to Jason. 

"What?" Jason said. 

He turned his head to look back when his feet gave out on him. Ken jumped over him and tried to pick him up. 

"Leave me!" Jason yelled, batting Ken's hand away.

"I can't!"

"You need to tell my story. Go! While you still can."

Ken looked back at the encroaching mob and back to Jason. Jason nodded to him. Ken nodded back and ran off, leaving Jason behind. The mob stopped pursuing Ken and focused on the catch of the day.

The sombrero box punched its hands through its own box and ripped out two maracas. "Hola, Amigo.”

Ken closed his eyes as he ran, hearing the groans of his friend after each maraca rattle. He left him to die. May it not be in vain.

Finding Purpose

"Number sixteen. Sixteen," I said to the lobby. 

"Over here." An older man waddled up to the counter and grabbed the brown bag of grease from me. 

I looked out into the sea of faces all waiting for their turn on the shit express. It's one way to clean your plumbing out, but I would prefer an enema. I turned away from their far too happy faces and returned to the scorching fires of the kitchen. 

The fries relaxed in the bubbling vat of despair, calling for me to join them. Patties let out a sigh of comfort on the stovetop next to them. They enjoyed their last moments unconcerned they will be ripped apart by some little monster who mixes all the fountain drinks together. Their purpose in life seemed much better than mine.

"Hey Steve, look who's here," Susie said from the window.

I walked over and it was thee Jackson Merrick. My jaw dropped so low it could have scrapped the grease off the floor. Jackson Merrick. At a place like this. Susie was counting his money to get him change.

"Is that really him?" I asked her, looking back out the window.

"It sure is."

"Give me the change. I want to talk to him."

"Sure. He had number nineteen," she said, handing me the change. She took off her blue cap and headset, leaving me to talk to my hero. I leaned out of the window and stretched out my hand full of quarters.

"Here you go Mr. Merrick. I have to say, I'm a big fan. The way you rebelled against your family's purpose for your life. It's an inspiration."

"Let me guess, your parents wanted you to cook?"

"Serve others. But yes. My whole family cooks, so naturally I'm stuck here. I only wish I could be like you.”

Mr. Merrick dropped the quarters in his cup holder and threw the car in park.

"You wanna know the secret to how I went against my parents' purpose for me?" Mr. Merrick said.

I leaned in closer, almost falling out the window. "How?" 

"I didn't."

I shook my head. "I don't understand…"

"Your parents' purpose for you is to serve others, right?"

"Yes."

"Who said you had to cook? Your purpose is broad, not narrow. The more creatively you think about your purpose, the more you will realize your family got it right. You just haven't found it yet."

I handed him his bag and let his words sink in. I hadn't found my purpose yet. I hadn't found my purpose...yet.

Fiance Cookie

"I can't believe she brought...him to supper," George said with a huff.

"George, be nice," Sally said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Be nice? That feller ruined our lives once already."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to?"

"I had to beg for my job after what he did at the company party. He ate everything."

"But our daughter loves him. So you be good to him."

George peeked his head around the corner from the kitchen. His glowing blonde haired daughter sat at the table like a flower fawning at the sun. Next to her was the furry blue muppet himself, Cookie Monster. He laughed at her joke and reached into the white bowl on the table for another cookie. George's blood vessels almost popped as he gazed upon the Cookie Monster's delight. Sally pulled him away and pushed a white bowl in his stomach, filled to the brim with cookies.

Sally glared at George. "Be nice."

George grunted and brought out the bowl of cookies. 

"Cookies!" The Cookie Monster said.

"...yes...cookies." George threw the bowl on the table next to the other bowl and sat down across from him.

"Thanks Daddy!" Megan said.

Sally walked in with four plates of steaming salmon. The aroma floated around the room, warming everyone from head to toe with one sniff. 

"Mmmh! Mrs. Walven that smells delicious," Cookie Monster said.

"Why thank you dear. Please call me Sally."

"Will do Sally–"

"So, you two are getting married?" George interrupted.

Megan held Cookie Monster's arm and nuzzled his shoulder. Cookie Monster patted her arm with his free hand.

"Yes. Cookie Monster love Megan so much I could eat her up. Nom nomomomom," he said pretending to eat her belly. Megan giggled like a kid, her smile more radiant than the sun. A crack came from George's hands from under the table and he gritted his teeth.

"Oh Darling, isn't that sweet?" Sally said to George.

George nodded, unable to look away from his enemy. He was transfixed on Cookie Monster's open mouth, still filled with crumbs.

"Are you gonna grace us with some grandkids?" Sally said to Megan.

"We're thinking about it. We're in no rush right now. Not even married yet," Megan said, smiling at Cookie Monster. 

"Cookie Monster still no go by the taco. Get too distracted by these two cookies," he said, holding Megan's breasts.

George stood up from the table and grabbed the bowl of cookies.

"I'll show you some cookies," George said and leaped across the table, thrusting the bowl over Cookie Monster's head. George fell on top of Cookie Monster, smashing the chair and landing on the floor. George held the bowl over his head while the Cookie Monster's arms flailed around.

"Daddy! Stop!" Megan screamed and tried to pull him off. Sally came around the other side and tried to help Megan. George was entrenched, unable to be lifted off as he continued to smother Cookie Monster. Crumbs poured around his blue body until Cookie Monster's blue arms went limp. 

"Cookie Monster!" Megan yelled into her hands. 

George snapped out of his rage and removed the bowl from Cookie Monster. He laid motionless under George, cookies overflowing around his mouth. A smile sneaked across George's face. Nobody was going to eat his daughter's cookies. Especially not this bastard.

The Poor

"Day 35. I was almost captured today by a swarm of them. They are getting more ingenious and desperate by the day. Trip wire hidden in the sewers. I cannot risk another chase down there again..." Daven said into his recorder. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reliving that moment. It smelt like a backed up septic tank. The water tensed his calf muscles as he tried to run through it. His fancy white collared shirt had turned into a brown and green monstrosity that locked in the smell of his new environment. The solid metal tube offered little hope, stretching farther than he could see in the dark. All it did was amplify the squeaks of the rats. 

"He went this way!" a voice echoed from behind.

Light started to come around the bend. Daven ran for it, splashing water everywhere, afraid The Poor caught up to him. He took a few more steps and tripped over a wire just above the water. He flipped over head first, gulping a mouthful of the disgusting water. He gagged on its putrid taste and looked around for an exit. A little farther down was a ladder. Salvation was found.

Daven opened his eyes again. He was safe. Holding his recorder, he was tucked inside a cardboard box. His knees burrowed into his chest and his arms kept them tight together while he held the recorder up to his face.

"If I don't make it, I just want to say I'm sorry for what I did. I should have never flaunted my wealth, especially at the expense of The Poor. Wiping my ass with hundred dollar bills and giving it to them was not my finest moment. I learned my lesson and humbly ask you to take this sincere apology into consid…"

The box caved in with a foot punching through the top, smacking the recorder out of his hand. He reached for it in the dark until he was dragged out of the box. The Poor had caught up to him. Surrounded by dirty men with missing teeth and various degrees of balding, they took turns kicking him with their wet shoes. Daven tried to protect his head while the blows kept coming. 

"Please! I'm sorry! Please!" he said in-between kicks.

"It's too late for that. Nobody messes with The Poor!"

They kept kicking well after his eyes closed and his body went limp. Pedestrians walked by and some stuck around to watch, but nobody tried to save Daven. His fate was sealed. There was only one rule in this city. Don't mess with The Poor.