((MorphManiac: Whoop de dee! Shfifty-five! Hiya everyone. I'm in the great town of (name withheld), and I'm about to go to a football game! () ...That kinda looks like a football. Almost. Anyway, I decided that since I'm visiting in this great city, I'd write on a foreign computer and give you all a taste of Randolph! (not that he tastes all that great.) (Not that I've actually tasted him.) So, sit back, relax, and get ready for this chapter!))

((Disclaimer: yadda yadda, don't own it. Actually, there really isn't a copyright infringement in this chapter, although some of you may notice some allusion to A Beautiful Mind.))

((Note: This chapter is one of the reasons it's PG-13. You've been forewarned.))

Randolph's plan had been foiled. It seemed like yet another incident of fruit had stopped him from achieving happiness. What was it about fruit, anyway? Why is it so great? Randolph asked himself. I bet it tastes like poo.

After this mind-boggling statement, he quickly fell asleep, right where he was. Almost as if his life was written by a fifteen-year-old girl with nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon. And then, instead of actually writing all the things that happened in-between him talking to himself and falling asleep, the writer got lazy and these activities were hurriedly squandered. But, of course, that's nonsense.

Randolph was at the farm again. It was a lovely farm, really. It had a nice red barn, green grass, and the stereotypical white picket fense.

Something was wrong, though. Something wrong with that all-too-white fense. Like it was spelled wrong and therefore became inhuman.

The fense began to change. It became bigger, and meaner, and scarier, and whiter, and then-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Randolph screamed. He was having the white picket fense dream all-too-often. He kept trying to discover what it was trying to say to him, but every attempt was erroneous.

And he didn't even know what erroneous meant.

He got up and walked around. He always did this after having the fense dream. It gave his sheets time to dry. From the sweating. The sweating.

Anyway, he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He tried to drink it, but his hands shook so much that he just drenched himself and dropped the glass. It shattered on the tile floor.

Randolph froze. He carefully, carefully, bent over, trying not to step on any of the sharp glass, when he came to an amazing realization. The pieces of glass seemed to light up in his mind, and rearranged themselves upon the floor. They were mathematically and scientifically accurate, and it seemed as if his brain was solving a highly complex puzzle. When the show of lights was finished, he jumped onto the counter and looked at the glass from above.

An eerie ringing sound was heard in Randolph's ears as he read the words: Not for you, silly rabbit.

Randolph screamed as the glass turned upon him and shot up like a bullet. He was being cut at every turn, and whenever a glass piece would successfully pummel through him, it would turn around and do it again. He was dying, Randolph knew, and he knew this was the end.

Randolph woke with a start. There was no screaming this time, but the ringing noise would not go away. He sat up, shakily. He gazed at his arms-nothing wrong. It seemed that the glass, too, had been a dream. Randolph, remembering the dream, became nauseous and ran to the bathroom.

He hadn't noticed the steady trickle of blood down his leg.

((A/N: That was kind of scary, huh? Well, this fic is PG-13, and this chapter is one of the reasons why. Sorry if you're scarred for life.

Oh, and another thing! I've decided to make this fic longer than I was going to. At first the goal was 15 chapters, but then things didn't get finished like I thought they would. So, yay? Maybe. Tell me in your review, which I know you were just about to do!))