Message from the Author: Well, well, well. It's been a while since I've written anything for this site. But I had a stroke of genius, and as such, I have returned. This is just a short little "pilot," if you will. Provide the stars align correctly, I intend to turn this into a series. So keep reading; it'll get better. I expect to have the first chapter out in about a week.

Aside from that, just keep in mind 'tis but a fun parody, not meant to be too offensive. My most sincere apologies to Stephanie Meyer. But in my defense, she was asking for it.

I'd never given much thought to how I'd die—unless it was after an extraordinarily graphic childbirth brought on by hawt, unprotected, abusive vampire-human sex, which was only slightly pedoish (a hundred years isn't that big of an age gap)—but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing at the lighted screen, into the brightly colored arrows, and they blankly stared back.

Surely it was a good way to die, on the hardest setting, on the hardest song. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I had never entered the tournament, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, though my legs felt like jelly, I couldn't bring myself to regret my decision. When life offers you a chance to achieve true glory, and maybe even win a free t-shirt, it's not reasonable to grieve when you get second place.

The DDR machine beeped cutely as "FAILURE" flashed across the screen.