Being unable to do anything due to nervousness and shyness, I break down in tears and run as fast as my flabby little legs allow me back towards the basement.
On the stairs, I trip over my chubby, smelly feet and crash down.
The impact of my immense weight and my wailing cries make the whole house shake.
The neighbours, freaked out by my pathetic wailing, start to come out of their houses, and one of them calls the emergency services.
The medics find me lying on the basement floor in the foetal position, covered in my own blood, tears, sweat, urine and feces.
I make yelping and grunting noises while my immense weight prevents my crushed, bruised body from getting up.
The medics, seeing my pathetic self, panicking and sobbing, struggling to roll over like a turtle lying on its back, are trying and failing to contain their laughter.
I start to scream and pound my meaty fists on the floor.
After 15 seconds, it tires me out, and I am so out of breath that I start to wheeze.
The medics, now doubling over in laughter, don't notice that my gasps for air are actualy sounds of myself starting to choke on my own saliva and sweat.
The horrid smell, the shame, the pain, the panic ... I feel a torrent of vomit rising up to my throat.
Unable to turn over to let it gush out of my fat mouth, I start to suffocate.
As horrible pain tears my lungs apart, and the slow death of my brain rips my consciousness to shreds, the last I experience of this world is the unbearable, burning shame, the smell of my own excrement, the taste of rancid puke, and their horrible, horrible laughter.