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.