There's a football flying in the air above me.

Floating.

This ball is destined to travel, and then fall.

But at this moment, in front of my eyes, I can see a football. An American football.

I draw a diagram in my mind.

You throw an American football in a spiral. Like a worm crawling in a dog's intestines.

A football thrown any other way just won't go very far.

It certainly won't get to the place it was intended to be thrown.

But this American football. This American football.

It moves with unnatural accuracy.

Obscenely.

Moist with the juices of human effort, this football tumbles end over end through the air.

Blasphemously.

It's as though the place it was going will always be the place it will go.

I think of my sister.

This American football is impossible. It just can't exist.

I want to wipe it from my eyes.

I want to scream and shove my face into a prehistoric tar pit.

It.

Is.

Terrifying.

heytheoffensivelinemenaretheMURDERbiggestguysonthefield,they'rebiggerthan everybodyelse,andthat'swhatAPOCALYPSEmakesthemthebiggestguysonthe fieldwhenyourPUNISHMENTarmgetshittheballisnotgoingtogowhereyouwantitto kdkfjlaINSANITYgahdfjifyouseeadefenseteamwithdirtandmudontheirbacks they'veRAPEhadabadday.

I wake up in my bed, bleeding.

My flaxen-haired maid is here with a bowl of Campbell's Chunky soup.

I feel like a an empty pot of meat, about to be filled.