“Then, I raised the blade above my head and swinged it—swung, had swinged, had swung—dropped the blade down violently on the neck of the beast and-“

“That’s not what happened at all!”

“Shut up, Billy. You weren’t even there!”

“Yes I was, Colby, don’t you remember? I ran in the cave not a moment too late. The beast had you tied by your feet from a stalag—stalac, stalagmatite—from the roof and I snuck in and hid behind a rock as soon as the beast looked over at me. Then I ran over and used my moon shoes to jump up to you and untie your feet and then grab one of the roof spikes and fall down on top of the beast and stabbed him with the-“

“You guys are insane! None of that even happened!”

“Yes it did, Alex,” Colby and Billy asserted in unison.

“Well,” pondered Billy, “it didn’t happen like what Colby was saying, but I totally dropped the blade.”

“No, no, no. You are both wrong. I was there, I actually know what happened,” Alex claimed. “The beast was holding you in its big, hairy paw, Billy, and he had you roasting over spit, Colby, and I flew in on my jetpack with a laser blaster and shot the spit and then the beast and I flew over and I caught both of you before you hit the ground and busted your bums.”

Colby thought about this and questioned, “How did you catch both of us if you were holding your laser blaster?”

“Well, um, uh-“

“And we all know you don’t have a jetpack, Alex,” Billy chimed in.

“You’re wrong!”

“No, you’re wrong!”

“No, you’re both wrong!”

All three yelled at each other louder and louder until none of them even listened. They just began to yell for the sake of yelling, as if yelling would help argue their point for them.

Billy's father sat in the living room, watching the game and chuckling to himself. “Kids have such fascinating imaginations,” he thought aloud, “I wonder what happens to us.”

“I blame society.”

“You're probably right, Beast, you're probably right.”