Bottom of the Ninth (Fiction)

Bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded, down by three, Jimmy’s up to bat. And here’s the pitch. And the swing. Strike one! Jimmy steps out of the batter’s box, wipes the sweat off his brow, and checks the signs from the third base coach. He nods his head and steps back in the box. And here’s the pitch. And the swing. Strike two! The Philadelphia Phillies are one strike away from winning the World Series. Jimmy steps back in the batter’s box. What’s this? He’s raising his arm. He’s pointing to center field. He’s calling his shot! I don’t believe it. And here’s the pitch. And the swing. And it looks like he got all of that one. It’s going, going, gone! A grand slam to center field! Jimmy has done the impossible. The crowd goes wild. The Cleveland Indians have won game seven of the World Series. Jimmy rounds the bases. He takes off his hat and waves it towards the fans. They have waited a long time for this. The fireworks start to explode. Boom! Bang! Pow! But wait. Those aren’t fireworks—they’re bombs! We’re under attack!

It’s the Russians. They have infiltrated the stadium. They’re parachuting in. They have guns—lots of guns. Quick, get me to the locker room. There it is, in my locker. I always keep my machine gun in my locker. Bang! Bang! Bang! Three shots, three dead Russians. Let’s go! There’s no time. We need to get out of the stadium. Oh my god! The streets are on fire. World War Three has broken out in the streets of Cleveland. Hand me a grenade. Boom! Another. Boom! Two tanks down. Kapow! I’ve been hit. Run for your life! No, leave me behind. I can fend for myself. Bang! Bang! Bang! Stay low, army crawl. Hurry, behind that car. I need another grenade. Boom! Watch out! From above. They’re attacking us from above. Wait, what is that? Those aren’t Russians. Those are aliens!

Screw you alien scum! Bang! Bang! Bang! We need more fire power. My machine gun bullets won’t penetrate their force field. I need an intergalactic bazooka. Thanks. Kabloowee! I’ve hit it. Oh no, it’s coming down right on top of us. Hurry. Run, jump, dive, summersault. Boom! Crash landing just missed us. But here come the aliens, dozens of them, small and green, with tentacles and claws. Bang! Got one. Bang! Got another. Green splatter everywhere. Don’t touch it, it’s poison. It will melt through anything it comes in contact with. We need to find the crystal. It’s the only way to destroy the mother ship. There it is. I see it—on top of that skyscraper. Let’s go. Watch out for the dinosaur. Run!!!!

“Jimmy!”

It’s a t-rex and it’s coming right for us!

“Jimmy!!”

Oh my god, it’s going to eat us. Run!

“Jimmy!!!”

“Yes, Mom?”

“It’s dinner time. Get inside and make sure you wash your hands.”