A/N: I'm really liking writing this types of things about Davis. It's gonna suck when I have to start writing other things...
It was the worst day of my life.
I'd had some pretty terrible days, too. I mean, that adventure was great, but too much nasty stuff happened to me. Like when I had to decide which of my friends would live, and it turned out they were imposters and Ken was just being a jerk.
Not much has changed.
I ran as fast as I could across the muddy field, vision blurred by the rain. Ken had the ball, as always. There was the one day, years ago, when I kicked it out from in front of him, but I've never done it since. The giant pieces of bacon jumping in front of me never helped.
I nearly caught up to him, but a cow fell in front of me and I tripped. I saw the ball sail into our giant bowl of Skittles in hot sauce. I had a horrible feeling as I slid into the pool of melted cheese.
The chicken ran across the field shouting, "Carrots for all!" I just couldn't take it. He always won. I could see the dumb grin on his face as he held up the spaghetti trophy.
He stepped onto the chocolate helicopter and flew off into the distance, his adoring fans cheering things like, "Marshmallow!" And, "Tapioca pudding!"
The feeling of defeat I had was like blueberry-flavored jam on french toast. Out of place, and weird. It only began to dawn on me then that this wasn't how soccer was played.
What the heck was going on here?
"WHY IS THE SOCCER BALL MADE OUT OF RED LICORICE?" I shouted. I looked to my left. The clock read, "3:26 A.M." Jun burst into my room just then.
"I think," She started, "You got the soccer ball confused with your brain. It is 3:30 A.M. Stop going to sleep on an empty stomach." She walked out, closing the door.
I was hungry...