"It's my obligation to tell you what I know to be true and if it's not true, then I refuse to write about it," Sir Angelo explained to his comrades and readers, seeking their advice and help.
Judge Peters slowly stepped into the room.
"Please Sir, explain your story," one of the readers asked.
"I was in deep thought last night and I swear something was in the room while I was writing down what I was thinking," Sir Angelo replied as he took a seat.
Judge Peters then walked over and took Sir Angelo's jacket, "Get comfortable, if you're going to share a story with us at least get comfortable."
Mr. Jackson emerged from his typewriter in the far back corner of the room to listen.
Sir Angelo continued, "Something was in the room and it began to speak to me."
"Could you see it?" Mr. Jackson asked, easing into the conversation.
"Listen, we're all different races and I come from England but whatever it was it was invisible. It was in my thoughts and had no form or color like us," Sir Angelo said taking a sip of water that Judge Peters had poured for him.
"So you're saying that something was in the room with you?" Mr. Jackson asked grabbing his pen and pad to write down the explanation.
"Were you afraid?" asked Judge Peters.
"Any man in his right mind would be haunted by such a vision. This thing told me that foreign people would infect our great citizens of this free country with drugs and all sorts of perverted things. I swear this is what the thing was trying to tell me," Sir Angelo explained as he started to sweat.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he went on, "It was God awful, children's minds being taken over by lights coming out of a screen and all kinds of drugs being passed out on the streets."
"My God!" Judge Peters replied almost falling out of his chair.
"Heathens everywhere, using words that only the devil would speak and all I kept hearing was, 'give me money, give me money.' I was scared to my knees! Do you hear me? I was a grown man in shock," Sir Angelo emphatically implicated.
"It was an outrage! The great people of this country had all become zombies. Rehab clinics everywhere!"
"That's absurd!" Mr. Jackson replied.
Sir Angelo, nearly falling out of his chair then grabbed him by the shirt, "If your ancestors were slaves, how could such a vision be absurd? I swear there is something trying to warn us about the future. We must do everything in our power to stop it!"
The crowd of readers started to boo him as the room became filled with objections.
Judge Peters escorted Sir Angelo to the door, "I don't believe in fairytales. I think you really need to go see a doctor Sir. Angelo."
Seventy years after telling his story, the prophecy had come to pass. Drugs had soon made its way on every street corner and people had become so lazy and mentally challenged that it was unreal. There was fighting and chaos all over the country and the zombies were eating away at ninety year old Sir Angelo's door.
"Go away! Please leave me alone!" Sir Angelo screamed grabbing his shot gun.
One of the zombies burst in through the kitchen.
"Somebody help me! Somebody help me please!" Sir. Angelo shouted as he picked up the phone to call 911. Getting no answer he soon realized that his house was being surrounded by drug zombies, people with no brains and deranged children. He started shooting everything that entered his house until he ran out of ammunition. Running to the top floor he had no other option but to kill himself so he started to write a suicide note. On the note it read: "The End"