Choose Your Own Nuthouse
You run to the middle of the road to ensure that the driver won’t miss you.
The driver doesn’t miss you at all. The van hits you at 85 mph, shattering your legs and pelvis. You get a close-up view of the driver as your face ricochets off the windshield. As you summersault through the air, some calm part of your mind realizes that it was Stephen King behind the wheel. You would laugh if you still had a jaw.
You hit the ground and skid on what’s left of your face, leaving a really gross smear across the asphalt. You come to a stop fifteen feet away, your limbs points in unhealthy directions.
Stephen guns it, drives over your body, backs up (over you), and drives over your again. Your brain oozes into his tire treads.
Stephen, having humanely put you out of your misery, drives away with your left arm wrapped around his drive shaft.
You be dead!
Go back to section 5!