Only yesterday she grasped me tenderly, gazed at me with the hungry look of a lover. "My hero," she murmured, touching her full, ruby lips to my golden crown, savoring my taste. I crumbled at her touch.

But that seems ages ago. Today I feel cleaved. Half chewed and devoured. I can't feel my left side and my right side is withering. It's so very cold.

What kind of a hero am I, anyway? In here gnawing at myself while she's out there, probably alone and hungry. I know I can satisfy her. Who else can? That meatball over there? Doubtful. He was submarined a long time ago. And that poor boy in the corner looks petrified.

The light flickers on and I hear a man's voice. "Honey, are you hungry?" he calls to someone.

"A little," she says.

Her voice!

"There's the other half of your hero sandwich in here."

Oh! To feel her hands around me.

"No thanks."

"What about my meatball sub?"

"That sounds good."

Damn!