Sweat pouring down my face, I thought carefully over every action. Even down to my heated breaths, there was no instinct or reaction... all plotted movements across the chess board. The basketball court. I had no skill; no game. Shadow left, fall down and split a bone. In the game of basketball, the only breaks you get are arms, legs and necks. Every day was a new choke. Something wasn't right. I just needed to do things on my own--That was when I found the B-Caves. On the outskirts of town, over miles of sprawling hill and down a twisting path made torrential rains of pain laid the entrance to nature's most basketball-related wonder. The B-Caves. A gigantic network of tunnels connected to some of the finest basketball quartz ever forged. This was my fucking chance.

They say the best time to get on your game is after dark, when every star in the sky twinkles like the cameras in the crowd. But the court knows best, and if we were doin' it inside, there'd be no sky to serve.

"Simon, I have a baller opportunity for you."
"Face up, hit me with it or just quit it," he responded, clearly impatient.

"It's all about the caves. We get to the cave, we break from the cage."
"Hoopz All Stars! I'll be there, don't call me square." I packed a bag with 6 basketballs and a towel. At 1 AM, we shredded foot and left on our B-Bikes. Orange for safety and style. Forty-five minutes later we stopped by the local court. Shrouded in darkness, the empty court begged for us to play on it, but the local law enforcement had a hate on for us ballers like nothin' else. Wasn't fair... Our bodies cooled underneath the tall street lamp, and we laid back on the bench. Where I always sat.
"Y'know," Simon sighed, "Imagine if we could jump as high as that light. We'd be legends."
"Kings of legend... I know." We paid no mind to the nearby stand of unattended DVDs, ranging in category from comedy to wrestling.

"Uh oh," I tapped Simon's shoulder, pointed, "Looks like it could be rival ballers. Get ready to defend your game." Two dark figures approached us. Their stride held confidence, not beef. As they passed into our light I could see them turn from black to blue. Cops. The anti-baller. Their breathing was loud and sporadic, like the dribble-drabble of an amateur baller... I was reminded only of myself.

"You fellas havin' a good night?" Even their voices stood tall.

"Uh, yeah I guess," I said as casually as I could. I had to work on my ball tone. Their loud faces became visible as they moved out from the claustrophobic shadow, and my cool facade dropped faster than the ball out of my hands. I could see plainly that they had no eyes or nose... Their smooth heads were empty, save an over sized mouth directly in the centers of their faces. No wonder they were so confident. The center always knows where they stand. Their thick heads of identical brown hair moved slowly in the breeze.

"Yeah, nice jersey homes. But you know... you're all sweaty. You guys don't look alright," the one officer said, his gigantic mouth flapping. "You kind of look like you might've been eyein' those DVDs. Like you might be nervous that we've caught you stealing."

"Well uhh..." Simon looked like he was going to shit, "We're not. Just simple basket-boys from the side of town."

"That's not what it looks like from here." The officers began stuffing DVDs into my backpack. I saw my prized ball fall out and roll off into the darkness. Immediately we were flung to the ground and hand cuffed.
"Man, get off my wrists. I need those." I felt a punch. Came at me so fast it must've been going 50 miles per hour.

I woke up. I couldn't see out of my right eye, but I could hear just fine. My brain bounced around my fractured skull. It reminded me of the ball bouncing against the broken cement of the court where I grew up. When the game was a game, and I wasn't so lame. Simon was in the other room pleading and sobbing. I could see his face in my mind, wracked with pain, trying to explain himself. I must've heard twenty shots. Not free throws or layups, but bullets. My body flooded with cold fear and spinal fluid. I was practically immobile, frozen in place. The B-Caves were a distant thought, floating in the back of my mind. A female cop approached me, her mouth sideways on her face, so large it wrapped around her bald head. Again no eyes or nose. No ears either. When she spoke, her skull flapped backwards, the skin folding together. I could see her thick, ropey brain in the back of her throat

"What you're going to do is play Seven Cigars. Our Chief is in there, and he has seven... cigars. You see, he's a very kind man, and he'll forgive you for seven things you've stolen. In fact, he'll take the damage. He'll smoke a cigar for each item you stole and take that poison into his own body... but any more than that, and you'll need to be punished. A bullet for each one."

I couldn't even feel my body, but I saw it being dragged into his office. This was it--My final quarter. I saw a headless man sitting at a table, his neck covered in a smooth layer of flesh that collapsed in the center and down into the darkness of his inner workings. His throat stuck out from the stump off center, tilted out the flesh-hole but not quite filling it. It was a thick tube floating in the air; it bent over to face me. Tiny round teeth were attached inside the circular, open tip. It coughed.