“So, um… we’re going to be here awhile… you wanna share those skittles?” The man in black suit and tie asked.
“You tried to kill me… No.” Gregory sat, munching candy and sharing the plight of millions of skittle-eaters worldwide: they made him incredibly thirsty.
“Come on, that was a mix-up. Didn’t Ghandi say an eye-for-an-eye only makes everyone blind?”
“I hardly think you’ll go blind from not eating skittles.”
“I have low blood sugar…” He said quietly.
The man in black drew his gun and shouted.
“GIVE ME THE DAMN CANDY!”
Gregory frantically surrendered it. There was a lull. The assassin felt bad.
“Hey, look, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry it came to that. But I’m an assassin, you know? If I just gave up I’d look bad.” Gregory was floored.
“What… the hell… first you point a gun at me, then you apologize… I’d say worse things, but I don’t want to be shot.”
“… Hey, come on, don’t be like that. I know. Let’s sing a song.”
*click* went the gun.
“k-Kuumbayaaaa….” Gregory sang shakily. After the song, they paused.
“Can I have my skittles back?”
They both died of dehydration.