For the scary story quest...

Listen to the way the dead autumn leaves crackle under your feet as you sneak around the outside of your parents house. No, those are the pop rocks. Yes, that, that is the leaves crackling. You shouldn't have gotten on his bad side. You dated him for an entire semester and then you just let him loose because you thought the way he acted at Trish's party was "weird." And you broke up with him via text message. That was not very smart. Occam deserves a breakup in person. After all, he loved you. Sure, you were born in 1987 and you had an AOL screen name before your seventh birthday, but that is no excuse to abuse technology in such a way, DaizyGrrl229. This is a civilized society; civilized people follow rules. You broke the rules. Now Occam will break you. You have become unnecessary.

"u suk its over ttyl"

That text message cost you three cents, and maybe your life. Occam responded to your text message with a simple answer, brilliantly vague:


You have no idea what Occam meant by this. You know he has a history of violence. He was suspended in high school for threatening the religion teacher with a razor. And although the Zoloft had leveled him out, you know he stopped taking it because he said it was superfluous. Surely Occam doesn't really believe that you breaking up with him is "k." What is "k," though? Maybe he means, "k, I don't care, I can give you the space you desire" or "k, I'll be over there in a second to chop off your head."

He knows where you live. Even so, he would never pick you up to take you to school because Tommy lives closer to you and drives to school every day anyway. But you feel safe at home because he isn't allowed over ever since you told your parents he was the one who knocked over your driveway mailbox. Occam said it was because there is already one next to the front door and it had become unnecessary. Just like you.

There is no place for you in this world anymore. You are a nuisance. Your blond hair with red Maybelline highlights belongs in the toilet, with the rest of your head. Your legs, fit and tone from hours of mall walking, are to be detached, cleaned, and buried. Yet Occam takes no pleasure in your deletion from the universe; it is his quiet destiny to remove your limbs and stack them against your torso in the most spatially efficient manner in the smallest possible sized box.

But you press on, squeezing all the improbability you can muster from your tiny air stealing body. So now you are sneaking around the back of the house, passing up two entrances on the way to the deck door in your typical blind wastefulness. The universe can't wait to get rid of you.

No time passes before you hear the terrible whir of Occam's hydroelectric car coming down the street. But you still wait to see the last couple seconds of The Real World before running to the window to see if you can pinpoint his motives. By the time you reach the window, Occam is already sprinting towards the doorway, palms violently flexed to minimize wind resistance and maximize your own demise.

You panic, snap your gum, then run to the back of the house, intending to escape into woods beyond your backyard. But while a few feet from the back door, you realize you have heard no evidence of Occam's arrival. You stop, turn, and walk back to the front of the house, trembling to the point of arousal. Where is he? You notice Burke, your brown and white spackled family puppy dog hasn't moved a paw; how can he be so still when even the pitter patter of a mailman is enough to have to have him scraped off the ceiling?

Maybe Occam was just trying to scare you. Maybe "k" meant, "k, I am going to come over and put a note on your door for you to read." You plop down next to Burke and flip on the television. Ah, back to The Real World. Burke whines that hunger whine, so you pop up and go fill his bowl with Kibbles 'n Bits. You sprinkle a little bit of Bacon Bits on top, he likes that. Slash, blood drenches your hands, you clasp your neck but feel only the slimy pain of arteries and bone. You scream up bubbling blood in a silent mess of proficient death. Right before you die, Occam sheaths a plastic bag over your conscious corpse, without a single drop of blood hitting the ground.

Burke, undisturbed, heartily chomps away. Occam surgically awaited completion of your last living function on this planet: to feed the dog.

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