We go instead to a white-washed flashback (or as we'll discover later, a flash-forward) showing an old woman with long white hair lying on what's presumably her deathbed. We're watching this from an overhead angle. An old man -- pretty stocky, with completely white hair, and wearing a red sweater -- is at her bedside. The woman closes her eyes. A stone necklace around her neck that might have once been green is now clear. It sparkles in rainbow colors as we pull back from a close-up on her neck. Death be not sparkly.
We return to the present day with oversaturated camera filters showing our scrawny empath looking at Lana with something like disgust. Cut back to regular-motion, non-saturated "reality." "Ya house...it's deca-rated with old people fuh-niture. And ya hair...it's WHITE! Necklace...clear. You'll be cremated and ya body will be on fiya!" Lana's and L'il Dead Zone's hands knock over the paper cup, and it's just water. He apologizes. Lana says there's plenty more where that came from. Especially since it's not Gatorade. L'il Dead Zone walks away without another word. "Hey! Nice job out there today," the coach tells the boy, appearing out of nowhere to scare the crap out of me. Coaches in general scare me a little. They're so...coachy! The coach tells L'il Dead Zone that he had a nice run out there. Coach starts to ask when the kid is going to join the team. He pats him on the shoulder and, oh no, another flash-forward.
This time, the coach is in Oversaturated Film Stock Land. He's got his arms out, Jesus-like, and we watch from overhead as a car plows right the fuck into him. He flies over the roof of the car. It's not a pretty accident. The coach lies face-down on the street, eyes open, body dead.
Cut back to regular time. L'il Dead Zone flinches. "Ya body, it's being FLUNG over the top of a seDAN! And the pavement...it won't feel good." The coach asks if he's all right. He just saw your death; of course he's all right. "A" grades for everyone! For the second time in thirty seconds, L'il Dead Zone does the Troubled Teen Stomp-Off. Homeboy just needs a hug. Preferably one in which no body contact is made.