CAMP REDACTED. ...

(previous)

“What the fuck, nigga? I’m God, nigga! Hear me, nigga? Hear me? Can’t shoot God with no gun, nigga! No way no how, nigga! God make the gun! God make it! And I God! I God, and I make the gun! Gun God! Me! I am! Put strudel on it ageen, nigga! Say what? I say put strudel on it ageen!”

A machete rips through your stomach. It feels like needing to defecate really badly, and not being able to, and being able to, and not needing to, all at the same time. The bounty hunters converge on your neighbor, but it’s too late. As you drift away, the funniest thing happens: you picture Lake Littlemort's gleaming waters--not as they really are, but the way they shone off of the glossy paper pamphlet you left on the coffee table of your apartment. 

You’ll never see it again. You'll probably never see anything again.

END