A cold breath of air brushed upon the fan seated in the stands, a cold, cold breath. He looked at the tall figure on the mound, staring at the masked man behind the plate who was waiting. The Loaded Gun, who was next to the masked man, stood anxiously, waiting. Waiting. The Loaded Gun stared at the figure on the mound, and

waited. The cold, gripping, nerve-tearing air of wait was upon all who witnessed this scene. The fan, wearing a cap with a red "B" embroidered on it, sat, waiting. The axe man, Wait, was chopping and hacking at them all, and chopping faster, and faster, and faster ....

Then, for an instant, the axe stopped. The tall figure on the mound moved. He stared hard down the barrel of the Loaded Gun. Suddenly, the bullet was spewed forth from the figure on the mound. It drew closer to the barrel of the Loaded Gun. It went incredibly fast, into the barrel. The Loaded Gun, now with two bullets in its barrel, fired.

The silence was everywhere. The only sound was the blast of the Loaded Gun. But the Loaded Gun would fire only one bullet. It would be the same one spewed forth by the figure on the mound. The bullet headed towards another figure, standing by first base, also waiting. The bullet got closer. Closer. Closer. . .

The figure on the mound stood, staring at the masked man to whom the bullet was fired. The masked man stood up, and also watched. The fan stood up, and watched. The Loaded Gun also watched, but he ran for first base. His view of the murder would be shaken and distorted because of the running, not clear like the others.

The people were hushed. No sound was uttered; the silence was painful. Painful!

In an instant, the bullet passed UNDER its victim. The barrier of silence was utterly and catastrophically shattered, destroyed, and strewn about like the target of a hydrogen bomb blast. The noise, oh, the noise! Nothing could ever be louder than the noise! The victim, though the bullet did not touch him, was killed. The Loaded Gun had done his job.

It was all over, in an instant.

Or was it?

Over in the stands, all alone (very, very alone) was the fan still standing. Not waiting anymore, however. He was the second victim of the other bullet, the one that made no sound, that no one saw. For the fan, it was a pain far, far greater than the other pain. It was Anxiety. Yet another pound was added to the tremendous weight called Anxiety. Only the fan would know its true weight: 68.

Off in the distance, far, far off, the axe man Wait could be heard chopping, slowly. n