Goop

Beneath a forboding bridge lies the silent killer, also known as the Goop. Angered, the green beast slips along the ground, smoothly, quietly, like a cobra. It spots its target, the man, and delves into the ground, silent, deadly, preparing to strike. The creeping Goop senses a halt in the mans movement. The creature violently pushes upward, and surfaced. Undetected, it attacks. He is engulfed by the monster, and the Goop sadistically suffocates the unsuspecting man.

Death Country

Jerry: (Nothing)
Driver: What? Did you say something?
Jerry: Um, no.
(Silence)
Jerry: Do you think we can change the station?
Driver: Why?
Jerry: Well, first of all, we were just at a Slayer concert; secondly, nothing is more depressing than listening to a static-infested country song while driving in the rain.
Driver: What if I like it?
Jerry: Hey, come on, really. Change it.
Driver: I'm not sure if I want to.
(Silence)
Jerry: Please, change it. I can't stand country.
Driver: No, I can enjoy country on a night like this, especially after my eardrums have been roasted at a concert.
(Jerry reaches for the radio, Driver grabs his wrist.)
Driver: Hey, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Try that again and you're out.
Jerry: Grrrr...
(Driver lets go)
Jerry: You know, they say country can kill you, or make you deaf if you listen to it for long with this much static.
Driver: Oh yeah?
Jerry: Yes, it's more dangerous than Kermit the Frog with a baseball bat, they say.
Driver: Well, that is a story. Cool to know.
(Silence)
Jerry: Okay, I can't stand it anymore!
(Jerry reaches once more for the tuning knob, Driver puts his arm in front of him once again, but not to stop him. Jerry heard the door handle click, and was kicked violently out of the vehicle.)
Driver: See you later, Jerry... hahaha, or not...
(Jerry fell down the edge of the cliff on the side of the road, and was never seen again.)

Little Tortilla Boy

"Shut up." replied Arnold. "There's only one man in this whole town who would be able to sell these things, and make a decent living, and that's me."

"Go for it then," replied Roberto. "If you think you can do it."

Tepoztlán was a city where you had to fight to survive. Killings, thefts, and rapes were but a few of the many hardships you would find in the small town on the mountainside. It seemed hard to make a living in any occupation there. Most people appeared to rob others houses as if they were simply going to the store. It was a tough life, but it was accepted because it was so consistently bad.

The only hope for the hopeless city lied in the little tortilla stands on every street corner. Now, most vendors did it for the money. None of them could be trusted. Most people knew them as "The Corrupt Crew," or simply "The Crew". The tortillas were cheap, so families low on money (which was the majority of the town, considering the crime rate) chose them over, say, an ear of corn. However, they weren't particularly tasty a lot of the time--which is why Arnold had the desire to make a difference.

"Don't worry about me, Roberto," said Arnold. " I can do this. And I'll take down anyone that gets in my way."

Arnold Mejito was a hulk of a man. He could be mistaken for a sasquatch. He worked out every day until he vomited. He had a thick Austrian accent, but no one could understand why, considering he lived in Mexico for his whole life. He intimidated everyone, although he couldn't figure out why. His friends strangely called him the "Terminator".

"Mejito, you go get 'em! That's the spirit."

Roberto was quite another story. Arnold found him on the side of the street one morning while he was on a jog (carrying two three hundred pound dumbells and doing a handstand), and he took him in as an almost little brother. Roberto was a small, thin man and had no family to turn to, because his family all died in a tragic accident involving a clown, four whipped pies, and a very large pair of shoes. He was very humble, and scared quite easily.

He said, "But Mejito, are you sure you have the skill to do this sort of thing?"

"Listen to me; you've tasted my tortillas," replied Arnold. "They are perfect. How can you tell me I don't have the skill?"

Roberto stared at him for a second with his bright, blue eyes. "You're right. It's just that no one else, except for Brantley, has made a good tortilla stand, and still, Brantley charges so much money for only one tortilla. Then again, yours are very good, Mejito. I'm behind you all the way on this."

Arnold tossed away the fifty pound medicine ball that he was twirling on his finger and hugged the tiny man. "I thank you for your kindness, brother. However, what will my parents think of me? They don't approve of this business... if they find out there will be nothing but trouble."

"Don't worry, man, what Mom and Pops don't know won't hurt 'em, eh? I mean, what kind of trouble can a little tortilla stand get us in?"