As they drink from your puddle, you raise the javelin and kill one. Then another. Finally, the leader of group looks up. He's aware that he is a mutant, and accepts his fate. The monster whispers thank you as you bring down the pike one last time.
Alone, surrounded by death and covered with blood, you are unsure of what to do. Why were you so passionate about being in the Olympics? Was it worth the life of five mutants and one pervert? No, of course not. You think about calling the police, but decide listening to Limp Bizkit would be better.
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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