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Description
Everything changed when he found the envelope. But he didn't care.

With a long, exaggerated sigh, Chuck stumbled down the staircase leading to his kitchen. He lived alone, and wanted it to stay that way. With a disgusting yawn, he tightened the strings to his blue robe and stepped out his front door into the frigid air. February was not a pleasant time, and Chuck wanted to get his mail and get inside as quickly as possible.

Slamming the mail down on the kitchen table, he frowned at how many bills there were. A mean, depressing frown that no one would want to see. However, he also saw something else. Giving the unaddressed red envelope a confused look, he snatched it from where it had landed and hastily ripped it open.

Tomorrow, a man named George will come to you door selling delicious chocolate. As much as you'll want to buy some, you can't. You must kill him. Why? I cannot say. But it is dire you complete this task. Failure to do so will result in a horrible death. You won't know when, and you won't know how. But he'll get you.

Chuck rolled his eyes as he read the note, knowing that it was completely fake. Who would write something like that? Whoever did even took the time to cut out the letters from a magazine. It was hilariously cliché, and he didn't believe it.

With a snort-chuckle, he crumpled up the letter; envelope included, and tossed it in the already over flowing garbage can. With his usual uncaring persona he continued the day as if nothing had happened. Being unemployed, he didn't really have anything to do but watch T.V. and eat. Which he proceeded to do for a good chunk of the day. Until the doorbell rang.

Grunting grossly, he forced himself out of his fluffy chair and went to answer the door.

"Hello, Sir!" The man began, frighteningly happily. "I'm selling chocolate and-" Chuck cut him off.

"George?" He asked casually.

"Yes..." George paused. "And I'm selling chocolate! Wanna buy some? Only five dollars!"

"Definitely." Chuck disobeyed the letter on purpose. He knew it was some dumb prank by drunken teenagers, or maybe and advertising idea by George. There was no way someone could just kill him. He smiled to himself, feeling good about how clever he was as he paid George the five dollars and grabbed the chocolate. "Now leave." Was all he said, slamming the door on George's still happy face.

Being the severely overweight man he was, Chuck had an uncontrollable urge to eat the entire box right away. He tore it open and poured the entire thing into his mouth all at once. He chewed for a very short period of time, before swallowing it and sighing contentedly. He made his way slowly back to the chair.

However, he didn't make it that far.

It started with light coughing, which increased in severity and quickly became painful. It made his stop moving, and collapse to the ground on his knees. He covered his mouth, harshly coughing into it. The noise leaving his mouth sounded grotesquely wet. Shaking, he pulled it away. All he saw was blood, all he felt was pain.

With a sharp cry, he fell into a laying position. He didn't know why and he didn't know how. All he knew was that this was it. He couldn't call anyone, there was no one to call. No one really cared about him anymore, as he never cared back. His eyelids slowly fell, blurring his vision. Chuck knew this was his last moment. With a final heaving breath he said:

"Damned salesmen." And his breathing stopped.

Description
Everything changed when he found the envelope. But he didn't care.

With a long, exaggerated sigh, Chuck stumbled down the staircase leading to his kitchen. He lived alone, and wanted it to stay that way. With a disgusting yawn, he tightened the strings to his blue robe and stepped out his front door into the frigid air. February was not a pleasant time, and Chuck wanted to get his mail and get inside as quickly as possible.

Slamming the mail down on the kitchen table, he frowned at how many bills there were. A mean, depressing frown that no one would want to see. However, he also saw something else. Giving the unaddressed red envelope a confused look, he snatched it from where it had landed and hastily ripped it open.

Tomorrow, a man named George will come to you door selling delicious chocolate. As much as you'll want to buy some, you can't. You must kill him. Why? I cannot say. But it is dire you complete this task. Failure to do so will result in a horrible death. You won't know when, and you won't know how. But he'll get you.

Chuck rolled his eyes as he read the note, knowing that it was completely fake. Who would write something like that? Whoever did even took the time to cut out the letters from a magazine. It was hilariously cliché, and he didn't believe it.

With a snort-chuckle, he crumpled up the letter; envelope included, and tossed it in the already over flowing garbage can. With his usual uncaring persona he continued the day as if nothing had happened. Being unemployed, he didn't really have anything to do but watch T.V. and eat. Which he proceeded to do for a good chunk of the day. Until the doorbell rang.

Grunting grossly, he forced himself out of his fluffy chair and went to answer the door.

"Hello, Sir!" The man began, frighteningly happily. "I'm selling chocolate and-" Chuck cut him off.

"George?" He asked casually.

"Yes..." George paused. "And I'm selling chocolate! Wanna buy some? Only five dollars!"

"Definitely." Chuck disobeyed the letter on purpose. He knew it was some dumb prank by drunken teenagers, or maybe and advertising idea by George. There was no way someone could just kill him. He smiled to himself, feeling good about how clever he was as he paid George the five dollars and grabbed the chocolate. "Now leave." Was all he said, slamming the door on George's still happy face.

Being the severely overweight man he was, Chuck had an uncontrollable urge to eat the entire box right away. He tore it open and poured the entire thing into his mouth all at once. He chewed for a very short period of time, before swallowing it and sighing contentedly. He made his way slowly back to the chair.

However, he didn't make it that far.

It started with light coughing, which increased in severity and quickly became painful. It made his stop moving, and collapse to the ground on his knees. He covered his mouth, harshly coughing into it. The noise leaving his mouth sounded grotesquely wet. Shaking, he pulled it away. All he saw was blood, all he felt was pain.

With a sharp cry, he fell into a laying position. He didn't know why and he didn't know how. All he knew was that this was it. He couldn't call anyone, there was no one to call. No one really cared about him anymore, as he never cared back. His eyelids slowly fell, blurring his vision. Chuck knew this was his last moment. With a final heaving breath he said:

"Damned salesmen." And his breathing stopped.