I had never been on a date before, not once, not ever. I was terrified. There was so much cologne soaking my skin and clothes that I was actively avoiding open flames and static electricity. My hair was gelled so thickly that a crust had formed over the top layer, and I spent an hour making sure every eyebrow hair on my face was lying down perfectly where it was supposed to.

Viktor had gone on some dates. He'd even had fully qualified girlfriends. There was a point after the first date where it's okay to call the girl your girlfriend. Viktor had reached that spot a couple of times. None of the relationships had ever lasted much past a few months, but Viktor had definitely been justified in calling more than one girl his girlfriend. I was always jealous as all hell, but never enough to really be mad or do anything mean to Viktor or the girlfriend of the time.

One of his girlfriends, maybe in Grade Nine, had been named Veronica Plouffe. The only super annoying thing about her was that she took pity on me. She saw Viktor being all happy and boyfriendish with her, and saw me as the poor little best friend that had never been kissed. She made me her charity case, and started trying to match me up with half the girls in school.

It was kind of cool at first, because all these girls were saying hi to me, and brushing up against me, which I didn't mind at all. The minute they opened their mouths to talk, I was done. Some had annoying voices, some mannish voices, others didn't know what the hell they were talking about, and some were so monumentally dull that I was dangerously close to falling asleep when I talked to them, or more truthfully, they talked at me. By the time Veronica and Viktor reached their second monthiversary, I had pushed pretty much every one of Veronica's girls further away than they had been before. Veronica then decided she didn't like me either, and Viktor decided he didn't like Veronica any more. I was pretty happy that he chose me over her, but I would have understood if he hadn't. I was his pain in the ass best friend, and she was his hot girlfriend, lifting his social status at school ten points every day they stayed together.

After they broke up, he fell right back down to the reject pile alongside good ol' Will.

Jodi and I started hanging out at school a lot more, and Viktor had faded off a little to give us some alone time. She was a very sweet girl, with all sorts of interesting hobbies and bizarre knowledge that I didn't even know you could know. She was into horseback riding, action figures, and thought that all new music was crap and that they stopped making good music ten years ago. If she'd only had a bit more of a maternal body, one that could carry my baby and keep it safe, she would have been a fantastic girlfriend for my quest to become a man.

I thought she was awesome, and it made me sad to think that one day I would have to break up with her and we wouldn't be together.

It felt right hanging out with her, it just fit somehow. The man list was getting in the way of that, but I had to finish it. My family had to come first, before my happiness.

I asked her to go to the movies with me as more than just friends right after our last math class of the week. She'd smiled a big smile, but she had tiny teeth, which were adorable, so her big smile was actually quite small.

"I'd love to," she said softly.

I think I actually jumped up and clapped my hands, but I really hope I didn't actually let out the squeal of glee that I distinctly remember emitting as she said yes. Most girls would have heard my squeal, spun around and gone to find their girlfriends so they could jibjab about the weird Will kid just asking them out and squealing about it after giving him a pity yes. Not Jodi. She liked me for my weirdness, and always said that my weirdness was one of the reasons why we'd been friends for so long. I wasn't like the rest of the lemmings, she said, and that I made my own way and did my own thing.

God, she was cool.

We agreed to meet at the theatre just before the seven o'clock show. Someone, somewhere at some point in the history of everything had decided that seven was a good starting point for nearly everything. A lot of people had dinner at seven. Movies were at seven. Sports games always started at seven. When someone suggested a time to meet somewhere before heading out for the evening, it was a safe bet to guess that they said seven. I wondered if the other times ever felt left out, like eight, or poor little six. Most people finished work by five, but no one ever started anything at six. Six was the segregated bastard child of the clock, frowned upon and not talked about because of its shameful bottom-dwelling position on the face.

We hadn't chosen our movie yet. All we'd said was meet at the theatre at seven, and we'd pick something once we got there.

It was weird to me how so many people chose the movies as an ideal date location. I thought that the idea of a date was to get to know the person better by asking them questions, finding out if you fit with that person, looking for the spark that might lead to something really cool; the movie theatre just didn't seem like a suitable place for any of that stuff. Darkened room, surrounded by people, encouraged to talk as little as possible, and ass-deep in snacks and other teenagers. What a scene for romance.

I kept feeling this sickening wave of guilt every time I thought about the date and how it was all a means to an end. If everything went smoothly, the date with Jodi could be branded a success, and I'd have the confidence to approach Sarah Bilkworth. Unfortunately, I'd have the hateful task of ripping Jodi's heart out.

I heard a bike roll towards the theatre, and I turned around to see who was coming. It was Jodi. Not too many girls my age would ride a bike around, let alone at night. She looked like she was enjoying herself as she pedalled over to the bike rack beside the entrance.

"Hey, Will," she said, without the slightest hint of exhaustion or windedness.

It sounded like she'd been standing still, as opposed to pedalling a bike around town. I was impressed.

"Hey, Jodi," I replied.

My palms exploded into two useless platters of sweat that connected my fingers to my arms. I wiped them on my pants to try and dry them off to very little avail. It made my pants wet, and my palms replaced the sweat that was now soaking into my pants with no effort. Stupid hands.

"What are we going to see?" she asked.

The theatre was busy. I wondered why I was surprised. It was Friday night. In our smallish town, the movies on Friday night was pretty much what everyone did, from oldass dudes with no one to go with to punks like me getting dating practice with one of his best friends so he could target a well-proportioned slightly older chick.

I was going to hell. The oldass dudes probably weren't.

"It's pretty slim pickings," I said, scanning the marquee for anything worth watching.

I was the only kid my age that used words like marquee. Everyone else just called it a billboard, or even went so far as to complete shut off their minds and call it a 'sign.' Marquee sounded way cooler. It made it seem as though a night at the movies was still something pretty special, as opposed to just another way for bored people to spend another few units of their outrageous expendable income.

"I could watch Love Like That," she said. I laughed. "What?"

"You just want to watch that because of Douchey von Douchenburg."

She crossed her arms and shook her head. "If by Douchey von Douchenburg you're referring to the actor known as Dewey von Dachtenberg, you couldn't be more wrong. While I will admit that the young man has his attractive merits, I am not about to go racing down to Hollywood for a quickie with him."

I laughed again. "Quickie?"

"Shut up. People still say quickie." 

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do."

"Yeah, in sitcoms from the 80s."

"Well then, smartass, what do you want to watch?"

I took another look at the posters. Salt 'n' Vinegar was some documentary about the chip industry. How someone convinced someone with money to foot the bill for a three hour documentary on the crisped potato industry was beyond me.

"Seven Kids and the Hot Nizanny?" I asked.

Jodi made a sour face. "No chance in hell. It's supposedly a rap version of Sound of Music."

"Seriously?"

We stood there and stared up at the marquee, silently willing the foul sign to change into something good. Five, maybe six screens and not one of them showing anything we wanted to watch. Perfect.

"We don't have to watch a movie," I said.

Jodi looked at me with a suspicious eye. It might have even been both of them.

"That line usually precedes copious amounts of making out. You don't intend on making a move now, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"This may come as something of a shock, Will, but I have gone out with other guys before."

"I knew that," I stuttered. "What does that have to do with not watching a movie?"

"Don't look at me like that. When I say I've gone out with other guys, it means a couple, not half the school. I'm not Sarah Bilkworth."

A pang of guilt hit me in the gut. She had to say Sarah Bilkworth. Of all of the mildly promiscuous girls in the school she could mention, she had to mention the future mother of my son.

"When a guy says 'we don't have to watch a movie,' he's broadly hinting at the fact that there are other things to occupy our time that we're spending together, such as making out."

"Who even says making out anymore?"

"Would you get over the words I'm using? It's really annoying."

"Sorry."

"So, are you after making out, or do you want to actually enjoy each other's company and get to know each other a little better?"

"We've known each other for ten years." 

"There's always something more you can learn about somebody."

This was getting strange. We'd gone from watching a movie, to me being branded a lech who was just after making out with one of my best friends. Dating wasn't starting well for me. I was getting nervous, and my stomach was flipping around in my abdomen like someone was beating it up. It had started off so well, especially the part before she had shown up.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe the only person I would be comfortable dating was myself. I liked my jokes, I enjoyed the same food as me, I always won all the arguments, and I was the only one I could get mad at if I was late. I was my dream date. Sick.

"So? Are we going to suffer through one of these atrocities, or do you want to go for a walk?" she asked.

"A walk."

"Yeah, a walk."

"Where?"

"I don't know...wherever we want. You've never just gone on a walk before?"

"I've walked places. Yes, I have gone on walks."

"With a girl?"

I thought about it for a second. "You know I haven't."

She spun around and headed away from the movie theatre. She didn't pick a direction; she just went. I wasn't much of a just get up and go kind of guy. A little planning went a long way, but if I didn't act on an impulse and follow Jodi, my date would be over before it began.

I jogged a few steps and caught up with her. She looked over at me as I got into stride with her, and she giggled.

"I don't think I've ever heard you giggle, Jodi," I said. "You cackle and snigger like no one's business. But full-on girlie giggle...that's new."

We walked in silence for a few strides.

"No, it's not."

"Yes it is."

"No. It's not."

"Jodi, I've known you for a very long time, and I think I would have noticed you giggling like a girl at some point or another."

"You would have to have noticed that I was a girl first."

She smiled without showing her teeth, and she was one of the few people I had ever seen that could pull that off without looking like they were trying to hide their teeth.

We walked down one of the downtown streets, if you could call the 8 x 8 grid of streets that made up my town's inner core a downtown. One half of downtown was seedy and disgusting, while the other half was ridiculously affluent and almost shiny in its opulence. It was split right down the centre between rich and not rich. We were walking down that middle street, aptly named Central Avenue. It had a much better name years ago, something like Badrag Boulevard, named after one of the founding fathers of the town.

Central Avenue was the best of both worlds. On one side of the street, you had prostitutes, 99 cent pizza places, and shady pawn shops that couldn't have broadcast that they sold stolen goods any more if they tried. The other side was the epitome of quaint, small-city sophistication, if that's what you wanted to call it. Within three blocks, you could have gotten a coffee, bought a book, done some banking, window shopped for drapes and linens, gotten your pet some counselling, and grabbed another coffee. If I could have walked down the middle of the street just to watch both sides of life attempting to ignore the other one, I would have. Humans were a funny bunch.

We started off on the rich side of the street, and peeked in at the pretentious coffee sippers. One couple in the second coffee shop was sitting in the same chair together, reading the same book. It was cute in a sick and disgusting sort of way.

"Gross," said Jodi. "The same damn book? That's just horrible."

"I don't know, Jodi," I said. "Isn't that kind of romantic?"

She snorted. "Yeah, if you're a hand-drawn cartoon."

I laughed. "Good point."

"This side's boring," she said. "I always go down this side."

"What's wrong with this side?"

"It's the same, every block. If you walk down every one of the streets on this side of town, you get the same thing. I've never walked over there," she said, pointing at the dingy side of the street. "What goes on over there? What sort of things do they do for fun? Do they even have coffee shops, or have they fashioned some sort of depraved life where they manage to make it through days without one drop of brew?"

"I'm sure they have coffee shops. They just use crack instead."

Jodi pointed her finger right in my face. "You don't know that. Don't be so quick to judge. Let's go."

She did a quick check of the road and darted across it before I even had a chance to protest. A huge bus barrelled past after her, and blocked her from view for a second. When the bus was gone, she was all the way across. She was standing beside one of the pawn shops, just a few feet away from a posse of snaggle-toothed hookers. She was smiling and beckoning me to join her.

I didn't want to at all.

I wasn't ready for this kind of challenge yet. After the Hemingway man tests were done, I would be. Right now, I was still a boy, and protecting a girl from the dangers of downtown violence was not on my to-do list just yet. However, my duty as a friend outweighed my lack of current manliness. I looked both ways for cars and jogged across the street.

"What are you doing?" I asked as I stood beside her catching my breath. "Those girls over there look like they could shoot bullets out of their nostrils."

I wasn't even sure that all of them even were girls. There was a shorter one with incredibly well-built calves that had a very suspect five o'clock shadow. She glanced over at me and gave me a hearty wink. Her biceps rippled as she twinkled her fingers at me in a sultry wave.

"I think she likes you," said Jodi. "Do you want to go talk to her?"

"Jodi!" I hissed. "What's wrong with you? No, I do not want to go talk to her. Can we just walk calmly down the road and avoid attracting attention?"

"Oh, come on, Will," Jodi teased. 

"Why are we even walking here?" I hissed to Jodi as we approached the prostitutes. "Where are we even going?"

"We're not going anywhere," she replied. "We're just going. Wherever we end up, that's where we'll be."

We passed the first prostitute without incident. She was very young. Her cheeks still had the puffy look of early adolescence. She could have been in Melody's grade. I didn't want to look a second time, because I was on a first name basis with most of my sister's friends. I snuck a peek, and breathed a sigh of relief as I failed to recognize the girl.

"You like Mandy, little man?" rippled a much more mature voice. Striding back and forth among the various prostitutes was a tall, striking woman with an ugly scar running along each cheek. She'd obviously been out here for a while, and would have been stunning were it not for the years spent working the streets. I knew who she was from stories kids told at school.

She was the Hooker Queen, and had achieved mythical status around town. Some of the stories were obviously exaggerated, such as the one where she ate a man whole and used his bones to make a new outfit; or the one where she threw a car at a man that had refused to pay up. She was still impressive, though, and it would be a very dumb move to make her angry.

"I'm sorry?" I replied, unable to reply with anything more than an awkward apology.

"I saw you looking up and down Mandy like she was the last one on the shelf and you had a coupon."

The girls erupted with laughter. None of them had a proper mouth full of teeth. Mandy flicked a look over at me and blinked. She couldn't have been much over fourteen.

"I...I...I'm sorry," I said again, this time more as a statement. I turned my head back to front and attempted to stride further ahead. Jodi held me back.

"What's wrong with you?" I whispered. I wanted to get out of there. I was starting to sweat and my breaths were short, raspy little inhales that were doing nothing to calm my nerves.

"Relax, Will. Live a little," she said, and addressed the Queen.

"What if he was?"

I didn't think my eyes could have opened wider. No words came to my mind, and nothing wise and sage escaped from my lips. I was stuck staring at the back of Jodi‟s head as she chatted it up with the Hooker Queen.

"That kind of look alone would cost you in most . Mandy!" she shouted. The girl snapped to attention and ran over to where the Queen was holding court, right between two garbage bins and in front of a ventilation fan that was spewing out a rank greasy, dead odour that would have soured fresh milk.

"Mandy, did this boy look at you?" the Queen said.

I was beginning to get a serious stabbing pain in my stomach. I didn't know if it was nerves or the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since lunchtime. It was pretty dumb that I'd been expecting popcorn and black liquorice to be my dinner.

"Yes, Mother," Mandy mumbled.

She didn't look at the Queen as she spoke, and the word 'mother' had more of a reverential, titular feeling to it than usual. She bowed her head as if she was some kind of slave girl working off her family's debt.

"You looked at one of my girls, boy," the Queen said. "No one looks at my girls without paying up."

The rest of the hookers milled around as if they were waiting for something to happen. A couple of them ground their fists into their palms, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck tingle and stand straight on end.

"Did you hear what I said, boy? You gonna pay, or what?"

"No, he's not going to pay," said Jodi, crossing her arms in front of her chest and standing in front of me.

The hookers all laughed again. Jodi wasn't exactly the most intimidating of figures, standing at barely 5 feet tall and weighing 100 pounds at the very most. The Queen was almost six feet, and there was one lady of the night standing near the back that could have played in the NFL if she really put her mind to it. Her arms alone were enough to inspire nightmares.

"Getting his little miss to fight his battles," growled the Queen. "How romantic."

"I'm not fighting for him,"said Jodi. "I'm just making sure he doesn't get taken for a ride that he doesn't want to take."

"Don't worry about that, girlie. No free rides around here."

The Queen took a step towards Jodi and towered above her. Jodi didn't flinch.

"Your breath is terrible," said Jodi.

It was the exact sort of thing a sixteen year old girl would say in this situation. Not exactly clever, but annoying enough to really piss someone off. I knew that if I was a six foot beast of a hooker with a short fuse, some little punk chick saying anything about my breath would irritate me like a mosquito draining blood from an ass zit.

"What did you just say, chickie?" the Queen snarled.

She had her hands crossed over her formidable chest and the fingers on her left hand were gripping the bicep of her opposite arm in what looked like a rather painful squeeze. The nails were long talons, and had the look of nails that had been treated right. If she had put half as much time and money into the rest of her life as she did into her nails, she could have been empress of all the hookers in all the world, as opposed to just the Queen of this ragtag pile of teenage hookers.

"I said your breath stinks," repeated Jodi. "And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mind breathing elsewhere."

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mind not breathing at all," hissed the Queen.

The mob behind her all oohed and cackled like the Queen had really laid down the gauntlet. Mandy was still hovering around the back and looked as if she didn't want to be a part of any of it. It was sad seeing someone my sister's age so uncomfortable. Girls that age always looked uncomfortable, but at least they could go home and flop on their couches and have their mums coo and try to make them feel better.

"If you keep breathing on me like that, I might stop breathing," Jodi retorted. "What the hell did you eat?"

My stomach churned. Jodi exuded this short girl confidence that only short girls could wield with any sort of grace. Short guys just came off as jackasses when they tried to act cocky or take on a big guy just to prove that he was tougher than the big guy.

"I don't have to tell you what I ate," said the Queen. "What I eat is my business."

"And judging by what your business is, I bet you ate a big fat...."

The Queen gave Jodi a huge shove before Jodi had a chance to finish what she was saying. Jodi lurched backwards and almost fell over. She caught her balance, and wheeled on the Queen with glittering, enraged eyes.

"You want to do this?" Jodi muttered, sounding very much like a bad ninja movie. All that she had to do to make it complete was wipe some fake blood off of her mouth and tilt her head menacingly.

"I'm not afraid of you, little girl," the Queen spat.

Her posse of bitches bristled behind her, cracking their knuckles and flexing their muscles. This was not the first time any of them had been in a fight. The seven foot hulk in the back picked up a garbage can and flung it across the street in an awesome display of power. I wondered what kind of sick man would require the services of such a woman, but I guessed there had to be a market for everyone. The garbage can smashed into one of the coffee shops and rolled back down to the street. It would never hold trash again.

The two sides stared at each other for a long, long time: the eight or so hookers versus the diminutive form that was my date. All this because I looked at Mandy in what was deemed an inappropriate fashion. Damn my eyes. For a brief, sweet second I thought that nothing was going to come of it and Jodi and I would be allowed to continue our walk in peace with a stern warning from the hookers to never pass by their haunt again. I would have heeded their warning with happy respect.

It was not to be.

I sneezed.

It was a very small sneeze, almost too small to register on the sneeze scale. I tried to cover it up, but it was just enough to upset the precarious balance between the warring factions. The hookers leapt at the sound and lunged towards Jodi. Fists, claws, there might have even been a broken bottle in the mix; all of it was aimed at little Jodi's person. For what it was worth, she stood her ground.

I couldn't let her do that. We had gotten into this together, I would go down with her. I jumped in front of her, and prepared for the onslaught. Images of my father's face saying 'Don't ever hit girls, no matter what' floated through my head, and I didn't think I'd ever be in a situation where I would have to ignore or heed his advice, but here it was, right in my face. I should have defended myself. I should have at least brought my arms up to protect my face.

I didn't.

Jodi shrieked as the Queen's nails scratched across my face, and a well-placed kick to my inner thigh brought me to my knees. The Queen had done this before. I was on the ground, and received all varieties of kicks, scrapes, punches, tears, slaps, and I think I even got a puncture wound from a three inch spike heel. After about two minutes of beating, I became numb to it. I heard yelling from across the street, and the hookers scattered. The Hooker Queen screeched in triumph, and then there was silence.

I could hardly move.

"What's wrong with you?" Jodi asked. "I could have handled myself."

"It was a reflex," I mumbled, my face still pressed into the sidewalk. "I couldn't help it."

"You idiot," she said, bending down and stroking my hair. "I have a black belt in almost every martial art there is. When mum left, my dad got all weird and defensive, and made all three of us girls enroll in martial arts classes. I could have torn those girls apart."

"Hmm," was all I could muster.

It was nice having her stroke my hair. Past the stench of urine, car exhaust and old cigarette butts that was invading my nostrils, I could just make out the slightest hint of her cinnamon perfume. That was how perfume should be. Enough to pierce through other smells, but not overwhelm the situation. She was incredible.

"Come on, let's get you to a hospital," she said, dragging me to my feet. I blinked my eyes to clear the fog, and saw a rather distressing pool of blood where my head had been.

"Is that from my head?" I asked.

"No, your mouth," she replied. "The bleeding's stopped, so that's good. Does anything feel broken?"

"I don't want to know," I said as she gingerly pressed the various parts of my body that looked like they had taken the brunt of the attack.

"It looks like a lot of scratches and a couple of cuts," she said. "One of them got a really good punch in on your mouth. You'll have to get some new shoes, though. Who wears three inch heels?"

"Hookers," I said.

She laughed. "I'm sorry, Will."

"Why? I looked at Mandy. This is all my fault."

"Yeah, but I pushed my luck with the wrong side of the tracks bullshit. I got us into this."

I laughed, which hurt my ribs.

"Your clothes are a mess," Jodi said.

"Let's go get you cleaned up."

We crossed the road very slowly. The inner thigh kick from the Queen had very nearly made me a woman, and every step I took was agony from the throbbing. Once we got to the other side and out of relative danger for the time being, Jodi pulled out her cell phone.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Calling an ambulance."

I reached up and pulled the phone out of her hand. "Don't."

"Why? You look like shit."

"I feel like shit."

"Then let me call you an ambulance."

"I'm on a date, Jodi."

She smiled at me with bewildered disbelief in her eyes. "Are you serious?"

"I should have asked you out years ago, but I didn't. I was dumb. I'm not done with tonight."

She looked me over, and shook her head. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You can buy me a coffee."

"I'd love to." She stepped close to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. All thoughts of Sarah Bilkworth were gone. I'd loved this tiny wild woman for years and it took a savage beating from a team of hookers to realize it. Jodi was going to be the mother of my children.

I just had to ask her first.

Broccoli terrifies me.

I don't mind eating it.

I'm just scared of it. 

I see a piece of broccoli, I tense up. The fibrous stem, tough to chew and the part that you always want to leave behind when forced to eat a plate of broccoli, was just the beginning. My eyes wander up the stem, curious, anxious to know what waits at the top. Will there just be more stem, or will it be something much worse, something so awful they'll have to come up with a new word for evil because this stem-topper will be the embodiment of all evil that has come before it?

At first, I think it's not so bad. A little cloud of green flecks bundled together like the top of a tree. Parents should never try to sell their kids on eating broccoli by saying that they're eating trees. No kid on the planet has ever looked at a tree and thought, 'Damn, I think I want me some tree tonight.' It doesn't happen, give it up. 

I had a horrible dream about broccoli, the night before I got sicker than I'd ever been in my entire life. I think it was the virus or bacteria or unknown entity that was taking over my body seizing control of my dream mechanism and running the show. It was the worse dream I'd ever had. Worse even than the one about mummies where my dad told me to kick the mummies in the ass.

It started out fine. Innocent and wonderful. A lovely little nocturnal motion picture, perfect for little boys in their beds of naiveté. My favourite cartoon characters were bouncing around a land of candy, plucking gumdrops from bushes and dipping their hands in rivers made of purest chocolate. There was laughter, singing, carousing, and general merry-making shared by all. It wouldn't have surprised me if world peace was declared the next day the way the dream was going. 

Then it all went horribly, irrevocably sour.

Booming, screeching hair-raising roars bellowed over the candied landscape. My little friends froze mid-huzzah. They knew as well as I did that the sweet innocence of our youth was spent, whatever terror borne with those roars was going to destroy us all. The roars got louder and closer, and great shuddering footsteps shook the world. Our doom was nigh.

They appeared over the hills made of cotton candy, leaving a great swath of destruction in their wake. Beautiful to behold but terrible to discover, their gaze was thick with rage and annihilation.

'Fifty foot tall broccoli goliaths' was the best way to describe them. Long, thick stems were used to propel the beasts along, leaping from spot to spot in mile-long bounds that shook the Earth when they landed. Their florets cast enormous shadows on the world below, blocking out the sun and pitching us into darkness. Angry, hateful faces stared out at my friends from the little crook where the stem and floret met; great, toothy mouths that were forever wide in a roar, and four simple eyes that knew nothing but death.

My friends cowered below the goliaths, shivering in their shadows. There was nothing to do, nowhere to run. Before they knew what was happening, my cartoon brethren were surrounded by broccoli beasts. 

There was no chance of negotiation, no bargaining; no begging. The goliaths knew no mercy, and would not give it no matter the plea.

The cartoons watched in horror as the florets of their tormentors began splitting in three pieces; a giant piece in the middle and two smaller pieces along the sides. The smaller pieces lowered closer to the ground, and were obviously meant to act as the beasts' arms. The arms reached into the florets and pulled out long, deadly pins. The pins tapered off into cruel points that could pierce through the side of a mountain. My friends said prayers to their gods and waited for their fate. Some waited more calmly than others, but the screams of the panicked few was enough to stain my dreams for all time.

The beasts attacked, stabbing the pins at everything within their foul reach. The pins pierced the cartoon characters, and my friends popped like balloons. There was nothing left of them after they popped. They simply exploded, and left no trace that they had ever existed. Pop after pop, life snuffed after life snuffed, until all were gone. The beasts roared in triumph and stowed the pins back in their hateful florets. They bounded away as if nothing had transpired. Once they were gone, the land of candy was a desolate place. No more laughter, no more huzzahs, and no one to dip their hands in the river of chocolate. I barfed so hard the next day my eyes were bloodshot for a week. Chicken pox is a bitch, and it hit me in the face like a truck doing seventy.