The Show Must Go On

The Show Must Go On Episode 2

Episode #2

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight six creepers will try to vie for your love and your votes. Your votes will allow one lucky person to be a Fade To Black champion and retire or try to carry on their kill streak. Let the competition start.”

A man in a suit walked on stage. “Tonight we are going to meet our Creepers. They come from all corners of the globe. That's right folks. Each Creeper is guilty of killing the filthy innocent wretches of society. Before we meet our first Creeper, please stand by for a message from our sponsors.”

A commercial popped up. A voice-over asked, “Do you have a problem with noisy neighbors? Pesky kids playing safe games? Get your bottle of Pest Away. Kill those problems.”

The commercial ended. The host came back into view. “First up folks. Meredith Brooks. She comes to us from Kansas City, Kansas. She has been convicted of killing her two little sisters and baby brother. She is sponsored by her weapon of choice. Kill-Ex Poison. Kill em dead. Good and dead. Without further ado. Meredith Brooks.”

Out walked Meredith. A fifteen-year-old. Dressed in goth clothes. Black and red theme. Lips and nose pierced. Black hair and pink lipstick. Meredith took a seat. She waved to the audience. Flashing a perfect smile. She appeared to be like the girl next door.

“Tell us, Meredith. Inquiring minds want to know. Why did you do it?”

“First off, I want to wave to my mom and dad.” She waved into the camera. “I like killing my siblings or whatever because, um, oh my god they were annoying as f**k. Or whatever. Mom would slap them and beat them but they never appreciated her. So like, um, one day or whatever, I heard my mom scream at them. She wished they were dead. So, like for Mother's Day, I umm like, totally killed both of my siblings.”

The announcer laughed. “You sick twisted b***h. I'm sure your mother is proud she raised such a ruthless cunt.” Meredith nodded. “Oh yes, my older sister is a total slut. Or whatever.” The announcer looked into the camera. “Thank you, Meredith." The host ushered her off stage.

Our next Creeper is Toby Santa. Hailing from Salt Lake City, Utah. He is convicted of murdering his wife and her many lovers. He is sponsored by his weapon of choice, Murder Rubber Wrap. Don't have your rubber break on you during those special moments. Toby come onnnnn out!.”

Out walked a balding forty-something man. His sharp brown eyes looked like a rodent through his thick glasses. His belly showed that he lusted after beer. His beard was matted and knotted. Toby sat down with a great sigh, looking bored and superior to the host.

“Tell us, Toby. What made you kill your wives and their lovers?”Toby sat up straight, taking more interest in the host.

He cleared his throat. “It wasn't jealousy. I just hated those humongous cunts. I wanted to leave. I thought about the best gift to give these sluts. So one day, wrapping my sandwich, You see I always made my own lunch cause the lazy b***h wouldn't stop humping the block long enough for me to get my god..." He took a deep breath.

"I got frustrated because once again she moved my fracking mayo. I looked over every damn inch of the fridge." He dug his nails into the chair, ripping the fabric. You sense the rage starting to build as the host begins acting extremely agitated.

"I stomped outside to the guest house where her brother was visiting. I walked in on them having an orgy with two men. I rushed in smiling and one after another wrapped plastic wrap around their faces. As they watched each other die, they cheered.”

The host smiled. “Bravo. Bravo. Do you have plans if you win?” Toby smiled.

“Yes. Get drunk. Get high as f**k, sleep it off, then go on a shooting spree. Try to be the first-ever two-time Creeper.” The host laughed. “Good for you Toby.” We are going to take a break. The show went to commercial.

Zane was sitting cool and calm in the green room. The Creepers, who had already finished their interview, smiled. Meredith was sitting cross-legged writing in a journal. Toby looked at Meredith like a prize.

Zane looked at Meredith. “That was pretty sweet. Killing those kids.” She smiled. “They were bastards anyway. My mom is like a huge cheater or whatever.” Zane smiled. Remembering his publicist's advice. He reached over, offering his hand. “Best of luck,” He offered. She snubbed his handshake. “Luck is for losers or whatever.”

The announcer came back. “Two down four to go. Our contestant hails out of Fort Worth, Texas. Armando Martinez. Armando is convicted of killing seven people in a drive-by. He is sponsored by his weapon of choice, Bolt Guns. No gun kills better than a Bolt. Now 50% lighter for children. Ladies and gentlemen Armando.”

Out walked a twenty-something bald-headed, brown-skinned, tattooed, gangster. Dressed in a white tank top, khaki pants, and black tennis shoes. His pants were cuffed and creased. The ladies in the crowd screamed. One female audience member shouted, “Armando, I want your baby.”

“Oi yea papi que Paso?” He reached over, giving the host a handshake and semi-hug. The announcer laughed. “You're a real live one. Tell us, Armando. Why did you kill them?” Armando laughed. “Well, you see these putos, they had it coming holmes. They stole our pinche powder. So my crew and I drew straws hermano. So peep this essay. I won the draw. I get my Bolt and these llevas are getting high on our supply."

He started gesturing how he held the gun. "So I have my carnal drive real slow to this group. I aim my gun and empty four clips at the group holmes. Oh man, carnal, there's nothing better than that feeling of having a blood bath.” The announcer laughed.

“Well, okay Essay. The host put emphasis on that word. "Thank you.”

Armando smiled. “Hey, can I send a shot out to my hina. Monique, I love you perra. Don't be f*****g no fools or I'ma kill you b***h. That p***y is mine. To me, raza. What's up, homies? See you when I see you.” Armondo kept speaking as the host tried to usher him off the stage.

After a few seconds, the host made hand gestures. A security team came and surrounded Armando. The security escorted Armando off the stage. Armando yelled, “Not cool holmes.”

The announcer laughed very nervously. As the team fought to guide Armondo off stage, he kicked over a chair in protest. The stagehands quickly reset the stage and put everything back perfectly.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we are halfway point in tonight's show. Our next Creeper is from shy town. South Side Chicago, Illinois. He is convicted of five murders of women. Sponsored by his weapon of choice, Elasta Wire.

"Looking for the finest grade A wire with a 500-pound break limit, look no further." The announcer stood up.

Let's welcome. Jefferson Williams.” Out on stage walked an African American man. He was dark-skinned with corn rolls. Wearing a plain white tee shirt and blue jeans with a pair of brown boots.

The announcer looked at Jefferson. “Welcome to Fade to Black.” Jefferson sat down. He crossed his legs and folded his hands on his lap. “Thank you very much.” He replied calmly.

The host smiled. He looked rather nervous. Kind of the way you would around a person you do not trust and want to be careful around. You could sense the tension. The announcer was clearly prejudiced by skin color.

“Jefferson, please tell us why five women had to die.” The announcer asked, making the room between them grow.

Jefferson looked the host up and down, trying to gauge his toughness. After giving the host the same disdain the host gave Jefferson, he began.

“Ahem, well, you see it was like this. Them bitches was shaking they ass and s**t. Letting hood ninja's hit that but wouldn't holla at ya boy here. So I got pissed and s**t. I walked up on Monica. She a big booty b***h that every guy on the block got a piece of ass. So I'm like, hey hoe can I hit that tap that ass? This b***h has the nerve to put me on the spot in front of my crew. She straight up tried to dawg me."

"I start getting mad as a mother. I'm all like f**k that s**t. So I grab this hoe and I'm looking to kill this trick. b***h had me so mad. I reached in my duckets and find this f*****g wire here." He pulled it out of his pocket. Looked at it like it was the best thing ever.

He started to laugh as he continued. "So I wrap this b***h up like a Christmas gift. The others were pure f*****g joy. I just couldn't help myself. You get the same sentence for one b***h or fifty bitches.”

The host laughed nervously. “That is so amazing. “ The host smiled. Keeping his distance. "Thank you, Jefferson.” Jefferson got up and walked away. Pulling out a joint, he lit it up, walking off the set.

The host looked into the camera. “Well folks, the count is four down two up. Stay tuned for our final two Creepers. Right now a message from our sponsors. Stay tuned to Fade to Black.

Zane started pacing. In his mind, thinking thoughts over and over. He was cool, calm, and collective. This was his routine. He walked over to the table. Grabbed a bottle of water. As he turned around he bumped into Armando.

“Oops.” Said Zane. “Oops? Hey, watch it, puto. You got water on my brand new kicks, b***h. I swear you might get dealt with.”

Zane smiled. “You talk the talk. Do you walk the walk?” Zane laughed. “Bitch.” Said Armando. “You're a dead man whetto.” Security started walking over, sensing a fight about to start. “I'll catch you on the rebound.” Said Armando, walking away. The show returned.

“Welcome back to Fade to Black. Our next Creeper is coming large and in charge from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He is convicted not only of murder but also of cannibalism. Sponsored not by his weapon of choice but by the flavor of choice. Tast Ie Spice. Is your meat dry? No flavor? Add some spice to your life. Tast Ie Spice. Samuel Taylor. This is your life. Come on out.”

A heavy-set man walked out. He wore a white shirt under blue overalls. Long mullet hair and a heavy beard. He turned the chair around. Samuel sat down and looked at the host up and down.

“Tell us, Samuel, we can imagine why you killed them, but why eat them too? Were you trying to destroy the evidence?” The man snickered. This sent chills down the host's spine.

“Hell, son, no, that ain't the reason. I'm no fairy. The simple fact was, that I was hungry. See here, boy, when you live in the country, vittles isn't easy to come across. So I says. I says, these big city Yankees come here. Why not kill them and eat them? I was on the brink of opening my own restaurant." The audience cheered.

"I was skinning and killing, then old boy here gets a call from these here film guys and they says. They says want to start a business come on our show. You might win some money and you can advertise for free. So I says to myself, good old boy, you would be dumber than a hog in wet mud to not go and do it. So here I am. Oh yeah. Samuel Finger Food coming to a location near you.”

The host once again smiled. “Good for you. Let's hope you win that grand prize. I can't wait to see the menu”

Looking into the camera, the announcer spoke.

“Our final Creeper of the night hails from the Golden State. The land of Dreams. Movieland U.S.A. From Hollywood, California. Convicted of killing his whole family. All three generations. Sponsored by his weapon of choice, Slice and Dice Knives. Good for skinning, cutting, and stabbing. When you feel like taking a stab at it, stab it with Slice and Dice Knives." The host reached a crescendo. The electricity in the crowd was amazing. Women screamed, waving signs.

"Please welcome Zane Monroe.”

Out walked Zane. A 21-year-old. He was dressed in a nice suit. His movie star's good looks beamed in the spotlight. His bright blue eyes and perfect skin illuminated the stage. A glow seemed to emanate on the stage.

Zane sat down.

The host sat across from Zane. He inched closer. “Tell us, Zane. Why kill your whole family? Grandparents, mother, father, siblings, nieces, nephews, wife, and child?” Zane flashed a bright smile. Ladies in the audience screamed. The host urged them on. The audience was one that the Beatles and Elvis once entertained.

“We love you, Zane.” Zane smiled. “Thank you. Well, we were sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table. The usual family affairs. I loved my family. I have always loved my family. When you're a little kid and your dad takes you to your first kill. Or your grandfather gives you your first weapon. They become heroes. The type of person every child wishes they had. That sets an example. Watching the kids eat and enjoying the food. Asking questions about life, most of the same old things. Guns, knives, chemistry sets, poisons. It was forced and fake. It was contrite."

Zane looked down at the floor. The crowd swayed with him. He looked at the people that sat in the audience. "The same old lazy and gilded communication. This notion of natural selection is very marketable. It's romantic. It's not very accurate. My whole lot, my whole generation has been compared to these guild-ed jaded killers of the past. Sure, they paved the road for us but they set the bar so high that we couldn't even hit the f*****g glass ceiling. This murder thing has been done to death. When you ride that animal to death and it wants to die. You look into its eyes. It asks to die, it begs you for death."

Zane reached into his jacket. " You watch it fall. You take out your knife." He mirrored everything he said as his voice entranced the audience. "You run the blade between your fingers, you reach back without hesitation, you don't just walk away. You don't just leave it because you love it. You reach back, grip the hilt, and don't hesitate based on how much you love it. You stab it with everything you have."

His voice was sad and he choked a bit. "I love my family, but they just had to go.” He slowly put the knife down on the table. His hand lovingly caressing the handle. His fingertips remained touching the weapon. He knew the curves of the handles intimately.

The host stood and clapped. The audience did so as well. Chanting. “Zane. Zane. Zane.” All the other Creepers walked on stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again. Please audience and those watching at home. Text or email your vote to see which Creepers move on and which will not be heading into the next round. Vote now, show your support.”

They took a commercial. The announcer went off stage. Armando walked over to Zane. “Words aren't actions. Superstar, looking in your heart essay I can see you're a faker. You're no killer. Just a b***h like the she-males that walk the street. Watch your back homeboy.” Armando walked away.

The host walked back on stage. “Get under your gauges. We are coming back.” A stagehand commanded. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Back.” The stagehand signaled the host.

The announcer looked into the camera. “Welcome back ladies and gentlemen. Let's tally these votes. Start the tally. Music played as the votes were counted. Once again, the roulette lights started shining on the Creepers. It slowed down. Finally, stopping on two Creepers. Samuel and Toby were both tied for votes.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we have a tie. Samuel and Toby, you know what this means. You will have a duel. You will fight to the death.” The audience cheered. Screaming. “Death. Death. Death.” The host silenced the crowd.

“Let's see get the wheel of death out.” The wheel popped up and began to spin. Starting fast, then slowly stopping on. “Feast til Flatline. The men looked confused. The host began to explain.

"In this sudden death match. You will be forced to eat until you die. If you both last till the desert, we are attaching these poison Ivs to you. The first one to eat everything and not die will be saved. The more you eat, the faster you might get to the random bowl that has the remedy.” Toby laughed. “You have got to be f*****g kidding me.”

The crowd started chanting “Eat. Eat. Eat.” Samuel and Toby sat down. Two covered plates come out, covered with silver lids.

“Our first is an Italian favorite. Spaghetti with meat sauce.” They pull the lids off. Revealing wiggling worms, roaches, and warm blood sauce.” They started eating. Dish after dish. Eyes dropped until they came to the last dish.

The host walked over to the two men. “You boys have done an amazing job. This plate is the one that has the cure to the poison you just ate. This is a desert. It was a 64oz milkshake.” They both started to down the thick milkshake.

Samuel slammed his cup down. “Finished.” He belched. Toby looked sad. “There you have it folks we have our winner.” The IV was squeezed, pushing poison into the loser.

Toby slumped over. Samuel started cheering. Jumping up and down, he threw up. “What's... what's wrong with me?” The announcer smiled. “Fade to Black doesn't do ties. We are about quality entertainment. The food and IV were both poisoned. Neither had a cure. Thank you for showing us your commitment.” Samuel fell to his knees. A smile on his face. The last thing he saw was the crowd cheering his name. His smile was fixed for now and ever.