The park, Saturday afternoon.

[superartie]

Artie bounds and spins, his arms out-stretched, a wimple on his head. (Yes, you heard me, a wimple. No, I don't know where he got it. As for why? Well . . . .)

The Orchestra swells:

The hills are alive
With the sound of music!

Suddenly, the orchestra is cut off by an electric guitar and a whammy bar. Artie freezes and jerks upright.

"Powers! Weakening! Song in my heart! Fading!"

And he pitches forward, stiff as a board, and collapses to the ground.

Twitching.