The four of you approach the gates and the beasts make short work of the guards-- they're fighting masters after all. The grass feels soft against your feet as you jog to the launch point. Once in position, you windup, taking a few steps back before letting your javelin loose into the air. It soars through the thick air and lands at the 15m mark. Glorious.
A police helicopter rises above the stadium and immediately shoots the three mutants before ordering you to the ground. You fall to your stomach with your hands on your head. You are never heard from again, but your mother finds your craigslist ad and blames your death on lust. But none of that matters since you accomplished your goal. Your only regret was that you arrived four days before the track and field events occurred, so no one saw you perform in the empty stadium.
Congratulations. Thanks for playing. Don't do drugs.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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