Basically you walk into Red Lobster on a stormy Wednesday evening.

You sit down with

your wife and two kids. The waiter comes by to take your order as you hungrily ask for
the endless shrimp.

15 minutes later everybody is served. Your wife and kids ordered the endless shrimp as
well. As the night morphs into inky blackness outside you all talk and laugh and eat.
You eat plate after plate after plate of shrimp. After a couple hours, you and your family
are stuffed. You motion to the waiter to bring the bill and look down at your plate,
letting out a small chuckle. It looks like you haven't even eaten a single bit of shrimp- a
curious thing since you have been gorging yourself on shrimp constantly for the better
part of two hours. But before you can puzzle over this small oddity any longer, the
waiter bustles over to your table and hands you the bill.

As you reach over to grab the check your hand closes instead around a squishy pile of
shrimp. There is no check being held out to you, just another plate of shrimp. A loud
thunderclap booms outside as you look up at the waiter to ask why he brought you
more shrimp instead of the check, when you are suddenly alarmed to find not the
waiter, but a giant, human-sized shrimp in server attire staring blankly down at you.
You spin around in your seat to see if your wife can see the shrimp waiter and are
immediately frightened out of your wits. Your wife is no longer seated there next to
you- only another human-sized shrimp wearing your wife's dress and hoop earrings.

Numb with horror, you quickly glance across the table at your two children. They are
both shrimps. You let out a yell as another thunderclap echoes across the sky and it
begins to rain. You distantly register the start of the torrential downfall outside, which
sounds like large hail, as you spare a sweeping glance across the restaurant. There are
no humans present. There are only shrimps seated at booths, shrimps seated at tables,
and even a small group of shrimps at the bar. They are all eating large platefuls of
shrimp and leering at you menacingly.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest like a war drum. You stumble backwards, half
falling over your chair in your haste to get up. You sprint for the door and run outside
into the dark stormy night. As you dash through the parking lot towards your car you
feel something like a giant hot raindrop hit your face and bounce off towards the
ground. Looking down you see a shrimp lying on the ground. You look out across the
parking lot and see puddles of shrimp collecting in the cracks in the pavement and
across the roofs of the closest cars. Another warm object strikes your head. It's literally
raining shrimp.

You find your car and fumble, hands shaking uncontrollably, with your keys. Finally
unlocking the car you slip inside and engage the door locks. The human-sized shrimp
from the restaurant are now congregating outside the front doors, staring across the
parking lot at you. Their pale orange-pink bodies eerily backlit from the light streaming
out from the open doors behind them.

You try to cram the key into the ignition, but it folds against the ignition plate and
squishes in your hand. You look down. There are no car keys, only several mangled
shrimp on a keyring in your trembling hand. You punch the steering wheel in frustration
accidentally setting off the car alarm.

The shrimps outside the restaurant hear the noise and hungrily start to advance across
the parking lot towards you. You try in vain to cram the shrimp key into the ignition but
you know it is pointless.

The shrimp slowly approach the car and surround it, rocking it back and forth, pressing
their slimy bodies against the frame. You hear the fiberglass doors groan under the
pressure as one of the rear windows shatters, spraying the backseat of the car with
fragments of glass.

You know there is no hope left. There is no escape. White-faced and shaking, you reach
across the console and open the glovebox. Crammed under the insurance papers and a
pile of napkins is the Glock 19 you always bring with you when you leave the house.
You pull the gun from its holster and pause for a fraction of a second that holds an
eternity. With tears streaming down your face, you put the gun to the roof of your
mouth. Trying not to imagine what it feels like to die, only forcing yourself to think of
your wife and kids you close your eyes. Then you pull the trigger.

A singular shrimp comes zooming out of the barrel into your mouth. In your darkest
hour, death itself refuses to end you. For death is not the end. There can only be
shrimp- and they are endless.