“Fuck you, Bro,” you tell the thief, “Even if they were Oreos, why would I give them to you?” You hear a little voice in your head that is telling you to stop talking… NOW, but you are ignoring it based on the fact that you are both nauseous and developing a wicked bad headache.
“Oh?” the older man grins, “Watch my mouth move: I will take, whatever I want. Are we clear?” To punctuate his sentence, he drops the rock and reaches into the back of his belt. It is from there that the pistol is produced. And that pistol is now aimed directly at the same spot on your head where you’d been hit with a rock mere moments before.
“Okay, okay,” you say, “Please just take whatever you want.” The man grins a wolflike grin and snatches the bag with the cookies from your hand. “I hope you choke on them,” you accidentally say out loud.
The smile disappears, and the thief pulls the trigger.
THE END
