[ WP ] At the age of 93 , you can feel dementia setting in . Times , places , and faces get jumbled . What you did n't expect was the immense rush of power that comes with slipping beyond the fabric of this reality .

Ruth's knees wobbled like spaghetti as she crossed the river -- no, it was a room, not a river. She steadied her fragile hands on whatever object she could grope. This was her ultimate quest, she had to make her way to the mouth of the river -- no, to the kitchen, not the mouth of the river -- so she could cook up something to fill her meatball-sized stomach. Honestly, a single lasagna noodle would last her days, but it was the retrieving of said lasagna noodle that worried her. 
 
 She saw the kitchen twenty steps in front of her, but her spaghetti legs and gooey tomato joints made those twenty steps twenty miles. The current of the river dared to throw her feeble body across the room -- wait, this was n't a river, was it? 
 
 *Oh, Ruth... you've really lost it*, she thought to herself. She wanted to shout these words out to God, so maybe He would take her life, but she could n't find her voice box. 
 
 And then she remembered: *meatball and spaghetti does n't have a voice box, Ruth* 
 
 Wait... what did that mean? Why did she say that to herself? Now fifteen steps away, she rested for a moment on a nearby boulder -- no, not a boulder, a chair! Ruth began to shake her head in frustration but quickly forgot why she was angry. 
 
 When she caught her breath, she continued her trek. In mid-step, she felt a crawling, uncomfortable force in her throat. All of a sudden, she started vomiting gallons of water that shook her entire noodle-y body. She felt a meager heat throughout her entire body, that quickly turned into a violent, painful flood of magma. Her head, which more resembled a meatball than a human skull, toppled off of her shoulders and whirlpooled in the powerful current of water that now surrounded her. Her arthritis-ridden back smashed into the side of the metal pot she resided in, and a confetti-burst of noodles exploded from the sticky orifice that her decapitated meatball-head once rested upon. Her old-lady screams sounded more like the prominent sound one would hear when stomping on wet meat, but the horror in her tone was unprecedented. 
 
 She came to the full realization that her 93-year old body was now a spaghetti and meatball dish that a family of four would delve into, and that her skin was melting from her malleable bones in a giant pot of boiling water. She never knew her dementia would get this bad, especially since it was n't hereditary. The pieces all came together in a horrifying moment of crippling awareness -- she was experiencing this unrivaled suffering for one reason, and one reason only: when she was 17, she had once smoked the devil's lettuce, more commonly known as Cannabis, with a couple friends. It had obviously had a slow effect, but a tremendous effect none-the-less, as she now underwent the morbid preparation of a common Italian dish, colloquially known as spaghetti and meatballs.
