[ WP ] You have broken into someone 's house , and discover a shrine dedicated to you ...

`` I'm telling you, this lady is LOADED!'' I tell Scab as we walk through the woods behind my house. 
 
 `` Dev, nobody in Bronzedale is loaded,'' he tells me. 
 
 `` Trust me; she went to my parents' church when we was kids. She has money.'' 
 
 `` Dev, let's just go rob Mary's dad's house. We know he's got tons of weed and she said he's been spendin' his nights at Barney's drinking and gettin' arrested.'' 
 
 I stop to look at Scab. `` Do you want weed or do you want *gold*?'' I ask. `` Scab, this lady- you just do n't know. She- man she is something else. She has got money, and her ass was old back when we was kids; she prob'ly goin' to be dead before we even get to her house based on her age.'' 
 
 I'm talkin' about old-lady Beth. Old-lady Beth used to go to my parents' church, and she would *always* talk about her super-rich dead husband. `` Charles used to take me to Italy during his extended weekends,'' and `` Charles and I just loved to go sailing together before he passed.'' One Sunday, the pastor said how the church needed donations to pay for a big Jesus statue. The pastor said there would be a separate collection for the statute, which would cost about ten grand! Old-lady Beth shouted in the middle of service `` Pastor! Pastor! I have the money for our Lord! Will a check alright?'' 
 
 `` I don' know,'' Scab says. `` How do you know she has n't blown all that money you was talkin' about? You said you ain' seen her since you was a kid.'' 
 
 `` Man, what she gon' blow her money on in Bronzedale?'' I ask. `` Don' be stupid. This'll be easy. We go in real quiet. We look around the house for silver, gold, cash, and anything else that has obvious value. We avoid her bedroom; if she wakes up, we hold her down and stuff her mouth with a rag, then one of us keeps her down while the other looks for valuables. When we finish, we put her in a closet or somethin' and tell her to count to one thousand.'' 
 
 *** 
 
 `` What the fuck man! You broke'er neck er what? GOD DAMN IT! FUCK!'' I shout at Scab. 
 
 `` Fuck you man; I told you this was a bad idea.'' 
 
 `` Dude, what the fuck happened! You were just suppos'd go check the guest room. Why the *fuck* did you kill'er?'' I ask. 
 
 `` She just came in man! I didn' know what to do. I didn' mean to kill'er. I just meant to move her out of the room with me so I could holler for you to help.'' 
 
 `` Well you didn' need my help did you?'' I shout. `` You killed her just fine on your own!'' 
 
 `` Hey, Dev... there is somethin' else.'' 
 
 `` Jesus Christ! What do you mean there is somethin' else?'' 
 
 `` Go look in that room,.'' Scab says. 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` Go look.'' 
 
 I walk into the room. Honestly, at this point, I'm hoping for a room full of gold to make up for all the bad shit that is happening to Scab and me. When I walk in, my eyes immediately fall on a five-foot statue in the center of the room. 
 
 I stare at the statue in disbelief. I slowly walk toward it. I get right up into the face of the statue, a face exactly like mine. The whole statue is a miniature replica of me. It's a replica of me as I look now, at 15. I have n't seen old-lady Beth since I was at most seven. 
 
 I notice paper scattered about the floor. I bend down and pick up a piece. I feel the paper is thick and realize it is a printed photograph. I turn the picture over. 
 
 `` Scab, come in her,'' I say, barely loud enough for him to hear me from outside the room. 
 
 Scab walks in. `` Dev, why does this lady have a statue of you in here?'' he asks. 
 
 `` I do n't know Scab, but look at this,'' I say, handing him the picture I picked up. 
 
 `` Don' fuck with me, man. Now I know y're playin''' he says playfully, but also frightened. `` There ai n't no way someone got a picture of this in here. No.'' Scab hands the picture back to me. 
 
 I look down at the photo. It's a picture of Scab and I walking in the woods behind my house. It was taken tonight. We are both wearing the same clothes and have the same haircuts as we do now. 
 
 `` I'm not playin' dude.'' 
 
 `` We goin' to jail then man! Someone knows we here! All we talked about in those woods is how we goin' to rob you rich friend Beth! Whoever took that picture heard us say we was goin' here. It sure as hell wasn' Beth neither. Her old ass barely walk around the house. She didn' go hikin' in the woods to catch us.'' 
 
 `` Calm down. We can figure this out. First, let's see if there are any more pictures of us in here.'' 
 
 I begin picking up pictures from the floor. The first picture I pick up is of a younger me, 9 or 10, playing in front of my house. *Why does she have these pictures*? I ask myself confused. The next picture I pick up is of me in class. *How the fuck did she get this*? 
 
 `` Dev.'' Scab says. 
 
 `` Yeah.'' 
 
 `` Come here.'' 
 
 I walk to Scab. `` What?'' 
 
 `` Look at this. We need to go.'' 
 
 Typically, we only feel true death-is-imminent terror in our dreams. Luckily, it is rare that we find ourselves in situations where we are truly, hopelessly, close to death. In our dreams, we get to run simulations of what it is like to be in such a situation, where our life is in true danger. Dreams are like practice, so that our first time we are presented with a situation where we know we are going to die, we have experience with the emotions we feel. At least, I thought that's what dreams did before I saw that picture. Not even my worst nightmare could prepare me for that picture. 
 
 I stare at the picture. The picture shows Scab and I, with Scab to my left, where he is currently standing. Scab and I are both looking at a picture. We are looking at a picture in a room - a room with a five-foot statute of me in the middle of it. Both of our faces show absolute terror. Behind us is a five-foot statue of me. Also behind us, immediately behind us, is old-lady Beth with a broad smile and a kitchen knife. 
 
 `` Old-lady Beth, old-lady Beth, old-lady DEATH!'' a crackly voice shouts from behind us. We both turn around to see old-lady Beth wielding a kitchen knife.
