It is a cold day everywhere, but especially on the sidewalk where you are walking. Ahead of you, you glimpse a man straighten up, look around, and sprint away like OJ in an airport. He left behind something on the snowy sidewalk. You rush forward and find -- a wallet. Now, loads of people would check for cash, then only call out if it's empty, but be proud, you have morals, don't you? You didn't even think about stealing it. You are _such_ a good person. Remember that. You bend over to pick up the wallet, and as you do, you start to yell, “Hey mister, you dropped your -- " — but as soon as you pick up the wallet, something happens. -- You are transported to a room. There's a door. The door opens, just a sliver, you hear a growl. And you're like, "Hold up! What just happened??" You see a bony hand reach into the room. You hear a whimper. Next to you, there is another person, a stranger. The stranger says, "oh no, it's coming back." You look at him, and his eyes are wide with terror, the color from his face drained, tears rained, terror reigned and it's plain that pain has been tattooed on his brain. The stranger grabs at you, tries to get the wallet, he said, "Give me the wallet! Give it back!" It's not your wallet, you want to give it back, that was the whole point, right? But, this wasn't the man you saw drop it and you're confused, and you're scared. So instead, you clutch the wallet close to you and say: "What the hell is happening?" -- At the door, the hand reaches in only as far as the light switch - less than a foot away from the door. It flicks the switch down. The room goes dark. The now-silhouetted hand retreats, the door closes, and the light under the door extinguishes. Immediately the stranger screams. It's loud because he's right there. Right by your ear, clutching and tearing and grabbing. "Give me the wallet!" He's surprisingly strong, but you maintain possession of the wallet. And you hiss, "What is happening?" You hear another low growl. It's coming from the door. The stranger abandons accosting you and pushes in behind you, wiggling and whimpering. You think, "Wait! I just grabbed a wallet! I was trying to help!". You consider port-keys and practical jokes but this seems pretty real, especially that very authentic growl not to mention the terrified strange man. And you can smell the stranger's terror. He begs quietly, "please, please." It's soft, low, like he's trying to keep back the panic, or convince you there is nothing to worry about. He says, "it's no big deal, I'm, I'm trying to help you. You don't want that wallet. It's trouble." You agree with that, but overall the stranger doesn't convince you. You keep hold of the wallet. Then the stranger changes tactics, "What kind of person are you?" It's a question you often ask yourself. You begin to answer the stranger, but what happens next takes away the words you were about to say. Takes away the words Packages up the words. (In a box) Seals the box air-tight Ships said airtight-box to an address on Key Largo owned by a millionaire demolitions expert who takes the entire box, sealed-words and all, and drops them into a hole the size of a ICBM silo. He blasts your words to Kingdom Come! Another way to say it (In other words): you have no words. (No words.) -- You have no words because at this moment, the door bursts open, the light comes back on, and in the moment where your eyes are still adjusting to the bright light, you glimpse a big hairy object bounding toward you. You are rooted in place, you smell it's breath before you feel it's bite. It's breath smells like burning hair. You can feel the weight of it on you, hear the cccc-chomping, the mmm-munching, and you think, "It doesn't hurt; why doesn't it hurt?" -- The reason it doesn't hurt is because the monster is not biting you. No, it's biting the screaming, wiggling stranger behind you. Uh, eewwww, not biting so much as eating, actually. Ellhhll. The stranger's screams suddenly stop with a sickening gurgle that fades as his life gives way. And just like that, you're back on the sidewalk, looking down on the wallet in the snow. It is still cold, and there is still a breeze. But you are sweating. You see the man you saw before, the one who had the wallet before you, the one who is still sprinting, but is now a block away. Instinctively, you pick up the wallet again, intending to return it. I mean, in reality, you _really are_ a good person. Remember that. But, as before, the moment you pick up the wallet, you are suddenly transported back to that same creepy room, same monster, same stranger, same hair-burning-smell-of-fear. The stranger is alive again, and he grabs at you immediately, "give it to me, trade with me, I can't do it again." But the light goes out, then back on, the monster returns, attacks the stranger, eats the stranger, and soon you're back on the street, now soaked to the skin, looking down at the wallet. You shake your head and say, out loud, "Sorry stranger. Not gonna help." You look both ways on the snowy sidewalk; there are other people around, hurrying along, braced against the wind chill. You glance down at the wallet, lying there peacefully, then you... sprint away, like OJ in an airport, leaving the wallet behind in the snow the same way that last guy did. Behind you, you hear a young woman holler, "Hey mister -- you've dropped your --" but she doesn't finish. And you know why she doesn't finish. You sprint for a block, stop and look back. There, in that spot, looking down at that wallet, is the stranger you saw get eaten. Twice. As you watch the stranger sprint away, you briefly consider going back to help the young woman. But, no. You don't. You tell yourself, "Next time. Next time I'll go help." And you realize that while you and that stranger escaped that room, neither of you escaped the fact that, when it matters, we choose ourselves.
