[FLINT]: And so he grabs her by the neck, right? He grabs her by the neck and he sez to her, he sez - "Lady! It's people like you that make this job fucking disgusting!
[GRESHAM]: Ha-chacha! Ha-chachachacha!
[FLINT]: Yeah, that gets them every time. Caller number nine eleven, you're on the air.
[CALLER]: Yeah hi um-
[GRESHAM]: Who dat? Who callin' dere?
[CALLER]: Um. Yeah hi. My name's Nolan, I'm calling from-
[GRESHAM]: Where ya callin' from darlin'?
[CALLER]: Uh. It's Nolan. I'm calling from Grundle Valley.
[FLINT]: Oh. Oh I'm sorry.
[CALLER]: Yeah I wanted to bring up something about what that one caller had to say.
[FLINT]: You'll have to be more specific than that, buddy, we get a lot of callers.
[GRESHAM]: Ha-chachacha! Go back to Africa! *BOING* sfx
[CALLER]: The Illuminati. You know, the blood moon on the 23rd of September this year?
[FLINT]: Oh god.
[GRESHAM]: Roll out the looney balloons and stab my bunghole! WEEWOOWEEWOOWEEWOO. Ha-chacha!
[FLINT]: What the fuck was that?
[GRESHAM]: We don't have an ambulance sound effect.
[FLINT]: Yes we do, check the thing. Anyway, what about them? You another one of these nuts or what?
[CALLER]: It isn't real.
[FLINT]: Oh thank god.
[GRESHAM]: PRAISE THE LORD ON MY KNEES AND READY TO PLEASE THANK YOU JEEEESUS. *LASERS sfx*
[CALLER]: The mutant rabit fox told me all about it in my brain.
[FLINT]: Wait what.
[GRESHAM]: I got nothin'.
[CALLER]: The small child without gender. He governs the rabidfox anomaly while he daynaps. Come the eleventh, the child without gender will tickle his belly and he will wake up.
[FLINT]: What in all fuck's name are you babbling about.
[CALLER]: The fox, he daynaps. We are all projections, details of his daynaps. Inconsistencies, I... I smell it in my bones. With my bones. He jibbers the truth into my brain.
[FLINT]: Nice try, Chumpus Maximus XVII. Get the fuck off my earpleaser, Satanist.
[CALLER]: What?! But I- *CLICK*
[GRESHAM]: Anton LaGay it all the way up the hell of your cornhole son. CORNHOLE IT!
[FLINT]: Back after these messages.

Satanism, noun, the worship of Satan, typically involving a travesty of Christian symbols and practices, such as placing a cross upside down.

"Turn that garbage off," Nack sez, he sez.

Marine doesn't hear him. She's in the middle of an important conversation. A conversation with a hostage. Her grip tightens on the shotgun.

"When you leave a creampie for that somethin' special, you gotta top it with glitter sprinkles deluxe, mister."

"I-I don't understand!"

"Super Friendship Pals! Haven't you been listenin' to a single dongdang word I been saying?"

"Wh-what?"

"Okay, mister, so in Joyful Friendship Valley, Tutu Fairy and Handsome Horse Robinson are making a creampie for the Summer Fun Friendship Gala. All of their friends will be there, mister! And they're making a creampie, mister! Filled with yummy white goo mined from the Puffy Pink Cave!"

"Oh my god. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna fucking die I know it!"

"Would it be the same without some glitter sparkles deluxe? I don't think so, mister. I don't think it would at all."

"P-please don't kill me." He's desperate. "Please."

"Aw, mister. You got it all wrong. Diddly Dudley the Deceptive Dodge Durango(tm) is my favorite! People says he's a badguy, but he weren't no badguy! Misunderstood is all. Like a 'splodeyball inside a bangy handle, he just a-listens to the caaaaaaalllllllllsa nature."

The force of the blast knocks her flat on her back as the dog's brain and skull matter paints the office walls.

Magical Princess Sally Acorn!
cornwallace/Swiper. No swiping.

Blood pools out of the dog's headless body and soaks into the carpet. Nack sniffs, then scratches his ass with one of his revolvers. "Marine," he groans over the screaming of the other hostages.

The little raccoon pulls herself off the floor.

"Dammit Marine," Nack winces as he digs the revolver into the crack of his ass. Really digs it in there. Itching drives him crazy. "I told you that we can't kill none of them until we start making some demands. That's why we took all these hostages, stupid."

"Nack!" Marine furrows her brow like she's about to cry. "You can't call me stupid! I am six!"

Nack's really digging the revolver in his ass-crack. Like, really digging it in there. This itch is really getting to him. "Yeh, yeh, I know you're six."

"I'm doing the best I can! This is my fiiiiiiirst," she slurps a long string of drool back into her mouth, "hostage! I am six! I am special!"

"Yeh, yeh, I know you're special. " Finally sated, the weasel scratches an itch on his snout with the same revolver and sniffs. Gives it a smell test. "Pee-you," he frowns. "That don't smell right. I think I got hemorrhoids or something."

"What'sssa hemorrhoids?"

hemorrhoid, noun, a swollen vein or group of veins in the region of the anus.

Marine is still confused. She is six. She is doing the best she can, okay? "I don't geddit," she cocks her head, cradles her shotgun to her chest. "Please explain it to me."

"Hemorrhoids is when grown-ups, like me, start bleeding out of their butthole and it really itches."

"Ewww," the little raccoon who now knows what hemorrhoids are sticks out her tongue. "That's like on Super Friendship Pals when Ribbity Rachel the Frog Princess of the Lilypad Kingdom gets her first monthly visit by the Lady Fairy and gets the achy eggs inside her that make her really mad at everybody but by the end of the adventure everybody understands and Rachel still gets invited to go to the Ice Cream Castle Ball after all!"

Nack raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, Marine. Just like that. Now, be a doll and turn off that rot."

"Whats'a rot?"

"The radio."

"The radio is a rot?"

"The radio is a lot of rot, Marine. Bunches and oodles."

Marine hops up and lugs her shotgun over to the table with the radio on it. She hops up onto the chair nearest her and diddles the knob until the sound goes SSSSHPPPPPPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH.

"JUMPIN' JACKRABBIT ON A COLEDIGGER'S ASS."

Nack shoots the beast. And by beast, of course, I mean radio. Then he sniffs the barrel of his gun again, making sure to draw in a big whiff of it. He's got something there, he's sure of it, but it's always good to get a second opinion when it comes to issues of the bodily humors he thinks, so he picks the mayor Antoine D'Coolette up by the collar and stuffs his gun in his face.

"Mon dieu-" the coyote-thing sputters, gagging and trying desperately to hold his breath.

This reaction makes the weasel screws up his face. It is very rude, Nack thinks, that he is asking for his opinion on his anal stenches and Antoine doesn't even have the gumption or the know-how to keep his manners about him.

The weasel whistles through the space that used to be his front teeth. "Well, who's a hoity-toity city mayor man? You think you too good for my gunstink, boy?"

"Ton revolver a une odeur comme l'hémorroïde."

"AMERICA. AMERICA DO YOU SPEAK IT."

"W-what?!"

Nack rubs the barrel firmly against Antoine's upper lip and he vomits on his knees.

"What's the matter, frenchie?" Nack asks, pretending he knows how to handle a revolver by spinning it around on his index finger. "Ya'll think ya'll know much better than us country folk. Why don't you 'splain it to me?"

"Jore - how you say - goonsteenk awful. Awful."

"Well well well. Lookit this, Marine. Looks like the fly grew an ass and filled the world with shit!"

"Robot Racso and the rodents of DIMH! Glitter sprinkles deluxe!"

"I am not knowing what a glitter sprinkles deluxe ees, or why I should be caring," the mayor sniffs. Antoine is the mayor. "I am ze mayor," he says. That's what he says, that he's the mayor. He's the mayor. Because uh, he said so.

"You should care!" Marine gets so mad that Antoine doesn't care, she stomps her foot on the floor. "You should care because it's part of Super Friendship Pals, the best show ever on TV! Don'tcha ever watch TV, mister mayor?"

Antoine ignores Marine and talks to Nack. "Liszen, I 'ave alerted the prrrroper authorities to jore presence, and now they will be coming along on their way to the place that is here. This place."

"And what," Nack starts to smile, "you think that you can scare us away just by calling the cops?"

"No, that ees no–"

"You think you can get us to turn tail and flee just cuz you call summa the pigs in blue to get us outta here? Because that's wrong. That's dead wrong." Antoine rolls his eyes. "As I was saying, non. I am not a fuel."

"Whats'a fuel?" Marine asks.

"Yer cornhole's a fuel, Marine," Nack responds.

The raccoon's eyes widen. "I knew it," she whispers.

"You 'ave taken us hostage, yes," the coyote sneezes. "Eh, pardon me. You 'ave not made any of ze demands. 'Ow can we know what eet ees that you are coming into city hall with your guns and your glitter sparkle deluxe for?"

And Marine, Marine's eyes light up. She grips the shotgun so hard, her knuckles turn white. Except, you know, we can't tell because she's wearing gloves. For some reason. Like how all the Sonic characters wear gloves for some reason.

"We," she sez, she sez, "we wanna have a tea party with you."

Antoine shits himself.

"A t-tea party?!"

Nack sniffs, smelling something familiar. Something like shit. "What," he turns to Marine. "Naw! We don't wanna have no tea party here. Where'd you get this nonsense 'bout a tea party from?"

"We wanna have a tea party with him!"

"Marine, we-"

"WE WANNA HAVE A TEA PARTY WE WANNA HAVE A TEA PARTY."

"Pleasings, just to be lettings go," Antoine sobs.

"WE GONNA HAVE A TEA PARTY OR I AM GONNA HATEFUCK YOU WITH THIS BANGYHANDLE YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING DOG."

Nack calls attention to himself by shooting another hostage in the face. He takes the barrel of the revolver and stuffs it into his lip, taking a mighty whiff. It smells like anus and gun powder - rather intoxicating. "Marine. No need to get racial. Yet."

"We wanna have a tea party with him. :3"

"Yeh, yeh fine. We'll have a tea party. Dog?"

"M-my name is Antoine."

"Yeh, I don't give a shit. You're gonna be the table."

"W-what-!"

"You heard me, dog. On all fours, c'mon. We aint got all day."

"Th-there is tablings to be suiting of you over-"

Nack slaps a show collar on Antoine and slaps his ass. No homo though. Homo is gross. "I said get on all fours, dog! Marine, do the thing."

Marine giggles and giddily pushes the button on the shock collar remote, sending volts of do it juice in waves of brainpain. Antoine yelps and reluctantly complies.

They don't have tea, so they put those big pink pencil erasers inside those cone cups of water from the water cooler and let them soak. It's Marine's idea, and Nack has to admit, it aint bad, but Antoine is a pretty crap table. "Tables aint supposed to cry," he says. Marine uses the do it button rather liberally and he isn't much of a table at all. More like some kind of sniveling coward, wriggling and squirming like a drunk centipede on the devil's ass.

liberal, allegory, a snake eating itself and thinking it's being progressive.

"Pleaaaaase," he whines desperately. "Do not to be doing the killings of, I'm doing the beggings of. Am to be doing anything you pleasings!"

"Quit yer yappin', dog. How did you become a mayor anyhow? Aint you supposed to be like. American to America. Or some shit."

"Presidents!" Marine says, hopping. "You're thinking of presidents!"

"What's a president? Que es pinchy fucking bunghole, man."

"Barrakka Osama Obama!"

"What?"

"BARRAKKA OSAMA OBAMA!" She screams, hopping wildly. "BARRAKKA OSAMA OBAMA! BARRAKKA OSAMA OBAMA!"

"Yeh, yeh," he sez, he sez. "Glitter sprinkles deluxe."

"PURPLE PANCAKE POWDER WAFFLE SYRUP SURPRISE?!"

"Yeh, yeh," he sez, he sez. "And a friendship ribbon for everybody."

Marine squeals and racks her shotgun. This clearly pleases her, quite rather, to be sure. She happily eats an eraser.

"I am not being sure that this is a–" Antoine's protest gets cut off by electricity coursing through his brain, and he shits himself again. That's gross Antoine.

"Tables ain't supposed ta talk!" Nack shouts. "Jesus, you might be a fance-y prance-y city mayor but you sure are a shit table. Like, literally," he stares at his shoes, buried underneath shit. Frowns, then lifts his shit-covered feet and puts them on the table.

Marine is eating another eraser. "Nack," stops to spit out some eraser shavings, "y'aren't supposed to put yer feet on the table. That's rude. I learned that from episode 7 of Super Friendship Pals when the pals all go to Fancy Franny's, where everything is really fancy but then Sparkly Flowerfart puts her feet on the table and accidentally knocks over Fancy Franny's china set and it smashes into teeny tiny bits and Fancy Franny gets really upset–"

"Okay, okay Marine I geddit. Jesus."

"Nack, what'sa Jesus?"

The weasel sighs and rolls his eyes. "We went over this before, Marine. There's no such thing as a Jesus. He's just a figment of your imagination."

"THIS IS THE SSPD." the muffled voice declares loudly from outside through a loudspeaker. "THAT IS TO SAY THIS IS THE STATION SQUARE POLICE DEPARTMENT. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP AND NO GUNS IN THEM OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO USE POLICE FORCE FORCE. THAT SPELLS DEATH FOR SUBSTANDARD CITIZENS, WHICH CLEARLY YOU ARE."

"Marine," Nack says, his signature fang hanging over his lip like a goon might. "D'ya remember what I told ye?"

Marine excitedly swallows some bits of eraser. "Sure don't!"

eraser, liberal, a free ride.

"Whattaya make of all this?" Bean chews on his words and his chewing gum. Or is it chaw? Either way, he spits and it's gross.

"A few years ago I would have told you it was the signs of the troubled soul reaching out to be touched by an angel." Bark sighs. "Now? Now I dunno what to tell ya."

"I mean like, the scoop."

"What? Are you a reporter now?"

"I just wasn't paying attention. What are we doing here."

"Reports of unknown gunpeople taking the mayor and city hall hostage. The Frenchman called us crying, sniveling about how his life was in danger. That Frenchman lovesto cry."

"Gunpeople? Like people made out of guns? Or walking guns that talk and spit death like some sort of post modern deathbreathing dragon?"

"People with guns, Bean."

"You mean like gunmen."

"Gunpeople, Bean. We live in a progressive age. It's unfair to the boobs if we assume everyone with guns is a man."

"That sounds so unnatural, though. It's weird. Gunpeople. Gunmen, that's better."

"Gunmen does too, if you sit and think about it."

Bean spits again. "I don't like it. Gunmen. I like that. What's a people anyway?"

"You know those rare furless creatures that try and complicate everything?"

"Ew. Roundheads. Gross."

"It's a sick world we live in, Bean."

Almost as if on cue, the front door to city hall opens and out skips a little girl raccoon holding a shotgun.

"Is that a shotgun?" Bean asks nobody in particular.

Bark grabs the loudpeaker dongle from him and spits hot fire into the mic. "Little girl! It's very dangerous out here. I'm sending some officers to pick you up!"

Marine's not having it. She racks her shotgun. "Ya'll keep them goddamn pigs behind ya or I'll stick this goddamn bangyhandle up yer cornhole. CORNHOLE IT! GLITTER SPRINKLES DELUXE."

"What the fuck is a glitter sprinkles deluxe."

"Super Friendship Pals," Bark replies, his expression stone. "Only the greatest show on television. Don't you watch TV, Bean?"

"Is that that show for little girls that weird old men seem to love unironically?"

"It's the greatest show on television, Bean."

"Yeah, says all their fans while they read Revelations and masturbate in the piles of feces dead goats drop after they've been sacrificed to Satan."

"I'll have you watch that, rookie. I'm almost positive Anton LaVey was a good man, deep down."

"What's an Anton LaVey."

"Only the biggest chump in the universe!" Marine interjects, advancing on them. "Now ya'll, we gotta make this quick. I gots me a list-a gimmies!"

"We don't deal with psychotic pieces of shit like you," Bean says, stealing the talkloud dongle back for his very own, his very own. "We fill them full of hot lead and blame it on poor people."

"Gimme that, you shithead," Bark says, taking back his rightful throne on the talkydongle. "All right, let's talk turkeybones. You give us a hostage, we'll talk about getting you that wish end."

"Give you a hostage?" Marine raises a finger to her lip curiously, her eyes widening. "All right!" She calls back to the building, her free hand cupping her mouth cartoonishly. "Nack! Send us out a hostage."

"Negotiation, my friend," Bark says to Bean, slapping a condescending hand on his shoulder. "You could learn a thing or two about it."

A freaked out dog is pushed through the front doors of city hall, she shrieks excitedly in disbelief, quite rather desperately, to be sure, and makes a b-line for the pigline. However, when Marine unloads a wad of death into her back, she dies in the slop, like a filthy animal.

"There's your hostage!" Marine giggles like a chump on whippets. "Now, you magic us up everything on this list or you can feed the poor dog this Christmas! CORNHOLE IT! Glitter sprinkles deluxe!"

Bark drops the dongle in disbelief. "We're dealing with a goddamn criminal mastermind, here."

"I say we shoot her," Bean says, cocking his police issued Desert Eagle.

"God damn it, Bean," Bark barks, "you're barking up the wrong tree."

"I'm not youing up anything. There's already enough of you to go around."

"That's not what I meant. Now, you ask me what kind of bear, what kind of monster could shoot an innocent little girl in the face without batting an eyelash after he caught her hand in the cookie jar, I'll tell you. I'm that bear. I'm that monster. But for now, because we're police officers and there's cellphones around we have to stand down, soldier. Do you feel my body against yours?"

"Yeh," Bean sighs.

"Say it," Bark barks through gritted teeth.

"I feel your body against mine."

"God damn it," Bark says, picking up the speakdongle for his donglespeak. He jams the button up so good. "What are your demandings?"

"First and foremost, I'm-a need every episode of Super Friendship pals on the watchydiscs. Even the episodes weren't aired yet! And I want them BONES FETRIS."

"What's a bones fetris?"

"I dunno, just roll with it," Bark says quietly, talkydingdong aside.

"I'm also gonna need a Tv to watch it on. And a watchydisc reader!"

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Oh! Yeah! I need the Tv here!"

"Yes, we heard you, a Tv. What kind of Tv?"

"THE Tv. The whole thing! And Princess Sally!" She's biting her lip, proud of herself that she 'membered.

"What, like a news camera?"

"YOU GET THE GODDAMN WHOLE TV HERE SO WE CAN SPEAK SOME TRUTH INTO IT OR I'LL SHOVE THIS BANGY HANDLE UP YOUR CORNHOLE AND UNLOAD ALL KINDS OF 'SPLODEYWADS UP IN THEM GUTS! GLITTER SPRINKLES DELUXE! CORNHOLE IT!"

With that, she skitters back into the building.

"What are we gonna do?" Bean asks.

"Call the princess," Bark grumbles.

"Are you sure?"

Bark rubs the bridge of his nose.

bridge, verb, be a bridge over (something).

Marine shoots another hostage and racks her shotgun before she starts hopping excitedly. "Did you see me, Nack? Did you see did you see did you see?"

"Yeh," Nack sez, he sez. "I saw."

"Diiiiid Iiiiiiii doooo gooooooooood?" She slurps.

"Yeh," Nack sez, he sez. "Ya done did good!"

She stops hopping to put her thinking face on as she takes aim at another hostage, hiding in the corner, crying and shitting herself. Her tongue hanging out, lips pursed tightly around it, she fires and lets the force of the blast take her with it. The shotgun drags her to the ground as the hostage tries to stand up and run, and the 'splodeywad rips through her fragile Mobian flesh and bones and kneecap of her left leg, severing it entirely at the knee and severely damaging the right. She falls to the ground like a sack-a 'taters and shrieks unintelligibly.

A jolted yet pleased sigh escapes Marine's lungs. "I'm just sa happy I could die here today, Nack," she coos.

"Hell, ya just might," Nack says, grinning like a goon from Grundle Valley. "Ya just might, Marine."

"Ya mean it?!" She sits up, cradling her shotgun. "Ya really mean it?!"

"You know I do." Nack spits, and it's gross.

"Like in Super Friendship Pals!" She hops up, excitedly racking her shotgun and gesturing wildly with it. "Like when the Meat Headed Muscle Man meets death for the first time and he says-" Suddenly Marine loses her grip on the shotgun. It clatters to the floor and goes off, the bullet splitting Nack's head into a pulpy red mass.

"Oopsiedaisie!" the little raccoon giggles as she picks up her gun and racks it. "Looks like I made a little boo-boo with my bangyhandle."

Air that was still trapped in the weasel's lungs bubbles to the top of his exposed trachea, slowed by the blood pouring out of his veins and into his windpipe.

"Sacré bleu!" Antoine's knees and hands are shaking from the strain of being a table all this time. "Joo killed your papa!"

Marine spins around and frowns at Antoine, then storms over, making sure that he really knows how angry she is by stomping her feet the whole way. "Mister mayor, you are a REALLY BAD table," she sez, she sez. "Have you ever even SEEN an episode of Super Friendship Pals? Not one SINGLE table ever TALKS on the cartoon. Not a SINGLE–"

She accidentally fires her shotgun again, ripping several holes into Antoine with the scattershot. The coyote gurgles, falls over. Everything is going dark. He wheezes but it's wet. Twitches a few times. Stops moving. Then he shits himself for a final time.

Marine puts her free hand on her hip. "Oh fiddley-stickies," she sez. "I din't mean for that to happen either. Well looks like the egg is on my face! Ha, ha, ha!" She pronounces every laugh. It is good for children to laugh! She learned this from TV too, on that episode of Super Friendship Pals where everyone learns a valuable lesson about how smiles make friends!

egg, noun

1. an oval or round object laid by a female bird, reptile, fish, or invertebrate, usually containing a developing embryo.
2. the origin of life.

In the sudden quiet of the room, she hears a whisper. Quiet sobs coming from the woman with half a leg, who's made her way halfway to the bathroom before giving up.

Around the little girl are the pale corpses of Nack and the hostages, bleeding out onto the carpet with blank stares affixed to faraway stars. Marine shrugs and skips
up to one of them, a young female dog with her back to the wall. She gets really close to her face and smiles with an unblinking stare. Smiles make friends!

"You look like you make a good babysitter! I never had a babysitter afore!" she screams into the corpse's face. "But I saw one on Super Friendship Pals, the episode
where Handsome Horse Robinson's parents leave for the movies at the Super Funtime Capitalism Place! And he has to have a babysitter! And he is scared about the
babysitter! But then it turns out the babysitter is a nice! Lady!"

The dead dog says nothing in response.

"Do you want to play MAKE BELIEVE WITH ME."

Still nothing.

Marine stands, looking at the corpse intently.

"OKAY LET'S PLAY MAKE BELIEVE. You can be the babysitter and I'll be Handsome Horse Robinson! I know it's weird that I'm a girl and Handsome Horse Robinson izza boy BUT. THAT'S the magic of MAKE BELIEVE!"

The corpse slumps over, the raw hole in her chest smearing a trail of blood on the wall.

Marine scratches her butt.

"You are not very good at bein' a babysitter," she says. "I guess I'll go play by myself then. Me and the power of my imagination! Children are important!"

She runs over to Nack's headless corpse.

"Hi Nack! I'm playing a game!" Marine sez, she sez. "I'm pretending to be Rainbow Kiss from Super Friendship Pals! Today is the day of the Winter Ball at the palace, and I don't have any frosting for my ookie cookies! What should I do?"

You are doing a really good job today, Marine, says Nack's corpse.

"Thank you!"

This was your first hostage situation, says Nack's corpse.

"I know! It was really tough, but I think I did it right!"

You are special, says a bubble of blood that pops in Nack's throat.

"I am special!" Marine says to the bubble. "I am a special child that needs," she slurps a long string of drool that somehow made it out of her mouth, "that needs nurture and support. It is important to support children's interests when they are six so they can grow up to be whatever they want to be!"

A fly lands on Nack's neck, or what's left of it, and begins to clean its proboscis. A whole swarm of them have been fucking on pile of Antoine's shit. Marine stares at them, buzzing around. She looks at the dead coyote.

"Today was a big day!" she sez to the room. "I done shot my first bangyhandle and now I'm going to the Winter Ball!" Shotgun in hand, she skips over to the woman, the female dog with half a leg in the corner.

"Hi there I made your leg 'asplode!" the raccoon screams at the top of her lungs.

The lady screams too, clutching the bloody stump where her limb used to be. "D-don't kill me!" she sobs, "Please! Don't kill me! I– I want to live! Please!"

"What's yer name?" Marine puts her face so close to the woman's that they almost touch.

"M-my name?"

"Yeah, yer name! My name's Marine! I am six!"

The woman shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "I, I don't–" she swallows. "Janet, my name's Janet! I don't want to die!"

"Hi Janet," Marine sez, she sez, "do you watch Super Friendship Pals too?"

"N-no. No I don't. Please, I only had a couple more months left to get the operation–"

"That's okay," Marine smiles, "that's okay that you don't watch it! I'll tell you all about it! Do you wanna be friends?"

"You–" the dog's voice ascends to a register reserved for hysteria, "you shot my fucking leg off! You shot my fucking leg off and now you want to be friends?"

"Please don't yell at me!" the raccoon's face screws up. "I was just trying to do my best! I am six!" Tears start rolling down the little girl's face. She can't help it but she feels embarrassed by it, even though that one episode of Super Friendship Pals taught her that it's always okay to cry.

Janet rocks back and forth, the bloody mess where her leg used to be throbs and gushes more fluid. "Oh god. I'm gonna die. I feel wrong, I feel–"

"PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME," Marine screams at the ceiling. But the ceiling doesn't respond. Janet shivers, pulls her leg close to herself, then slumps over on the floor.

Then there's only the buzzing of the fluorescent lights and the sound of a sad little girl sobbing.

"N-nack?" she asks the weasel's corpse.

No response.

"Nobody wants to be my friend anymore, Nack, where are ya? Are ya here?"

Another bubble of blood pops in his trachea.

Then the lights go out.

imagination, noun, the sweetest lie that you keep selling yourself

Marine reaches out in the darkness and grabs a warm hand. She squeezes it, and it squeezes her back.

"Hello Marine," sez a voice to her it sez. It's Tutu Fairy! From Super Friendship Pals! The best show on television!

"Oh thank a Jesus!" Marine says, screwing up the words that she heard Nack say. "I thought I was all alone!"

"When you have friends, you're never alone," Tutu Fairy smiles, glitter sparkles falling from her hair and face, "just like we learned in Super Friendship Pals episode 17 when Rainbow Kiss and Meat Headed Muscle Man and I all get trapped in the chocolate caverns. Even though we feel alone and afraid, we have each other! And you have us."

Marine wipes the tears from one eye with her free hand, then the other. "Tutu Fairy, you're my best friend. I'm so glad I have you."

"You'll always be one of my Super Friendship Pals©," Tutu Fairy pulls Marine into a warm embrace. "But now it's time for me to go, and it's time for you to go too if you want to make it to the Winter Ball! I'll see you soon, Marine."

Then with the click, the lights turn back on. Tutu Fairy is gone. Marine puts the shotgun down and looks at her gloves, like how the adults do on TV when they realize they're late, then turns her gaze to the room.

"I guess you're right. It's time to go," she sez. "I don't want to be late for the ball! Everybody's already left without me!" Nack has left without her, too. His body still sits behind her, the blood finally clotting up. He's gone. So is the mayor, his corpse unmoving on the floor, and Janet too, curled up in the corner. She knows that they're gone, she's not stupid even if she IS only six. They're gone, and now it's time for her to go too. She nods to the room, saying goodbye.

Marine steps out through the front doors of city hall. She hears the calling of the sirens, the beautifully songed beasts coaxes her out into the unknown. As she looks
out amongst the lights, a sigh of wonder escapes her lips. A flock of doves fly along her field of vision, molting and decaying in midflight, rotten corpses falling to the ground. She gasps in wonder, and behind the lights she can feel the cosmos, she can feel the stars falling from the sky. She laughs, delighted, and beyond the sounds of screaming and gunfire, she can hear the singing of angels in the distance. Like from the show.

An overwhelming load of emotion and sensation it is to ascend to the Puffy White Palace in the sky. Where all your friends are there, waiting for you, with a super
double triple surprise of a puffy white creampie, just for you - with glitter sprinkles deluxe.

the end

end
end/Submit

noun
1.
a final part of something, especially a period of time, an activity, or a story.
"the end of the year"
synonyms: conclusion, termination, ending, finish, close, resolution, climax, finale, culmination, denouement.
2.
the furthest or most extreme part or point of something.
"a length of wire with a hook at the end"
synonyms: extremity, furthermost part, limit.

verb
1.
come or bring to a final point; finish.
"when the war ended, policy changed"
synonyms: break off, call off, bring to an end, put an end to, stop, finish, terminate, discontinue, curtail.

cornwallace/Swiper. No swiping. - 9/11/15