My sprite cranberry fanfiction

       We were all gathered in our main room discussing politics and other family business. We had just had a meal, and the thirst was quite evident among the crowd. You might call it the thirstiest time of the year. We all gathered on the couch and we were about to begin a movie. The TV flickered on and revealed a blue screen waiting for the disk to be inserted. The disk was slid into the slot and slowly glided toward the rest of the DVD player. Suddenly, a faint noise could be heard amongst the waiting crowd. A Christmas song, maybe. But it wasn't. Faint words could be heard: thirstiest, query, cranberry? I slowly looked towards the DVD player. A man was standing near it, he turned around. Lebron James's eyes showed my own reflection. He had a grin on his face: friendly but with a slight note of anguish hidden behind his brown retinas. A sudden burst of fear jolted through my body. I looked around the room at my family members for any sign of comfort. They were no longer sitting. They had expressions on their faces similar to that of Lebron. They were holding red cans tightly in their firm grasp. Their knuckles were red while the skin around their fingers was pale white. "W...What is that?," I stuttered quietly. All at once, they yelled,"Sprite Cranberry!" I ran as fast as I could; out the door, through the street, but I could not outrun them. They seemed to be propelled by some kind of invisible force as if the Sprite had boosted their muscle strength and stamina. I eventually fell to the ground. My pursuers formed a circle around me and started to chant faintly. The chant got increasingly louder and faster: "Sprite Cranberry, Sprite Cranberry, SPRITE CRANBERRY!" They yelled at such volume that I had to plug my ears with the cold, sweaty fingers attached to my quivering hands. I started shaking viloently as Lebron came up to me weilding a blade. About twelve inches in length with a red handle. As he slowly pushed the steely, silver blade against my jugular vein, I could almost feel the skin splitting. He muttered calmly, "Wanna Sprite Cranberry?" Twenty letters, three words. The last phrase I would ever hear.