Well that was a ripoff. Fifty bucks to have a machine tell you how you die and you had already figured that's how you were gonna go a long time ago...
Gus looked at the little slip of paper again before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it away. The single typed word mocked him. He had hoped for something, anything, more definitive—like gunshot or heart attack—anything other than "Shawn".
Short but I like it all the same. Thanks for reading it. :D ~alex