by JENNY GREEN
The craving is overpowering my senses, drowning my mortal thoughts. I know that I must resist the temptation, but it’s so hard. How unjust that something so appealing, so enticing can exist but I know it to be true.
I have tasted Heaven and I want more.
I try once more to clear my thoughts of my longing. Little by little, page by page, I further progress the task with which I toil, but never am able to concentrate fully. I slam the hardcover shut and catapult it across the room, presumably offending the great Zumdahls. Yet I have not a care in the world; not a care but to attain what I desire.
I calculate various possibilities in my head. I mustn’t spare any of my small funds to feed this addiction; I am already in debt. Am I willing to descend into petty thievery?
No, I must take control of this situation with what dignity I have left.
I reminisce on past times when I was blessed enough to be holding the sweet warmness in my hand. That damned two-tailed maiden with her flowing locks of snowy hair! How smug she must be under her crown, gloating at my misfortune. She mocks me, I know it, relishes at my weakness.
A single droplet suddenly hits my spiral bound papers before being followed by another. And another. Before long, I raise my palm to my cheek and realize that the continuous rivulet is physical proof of my immense frustration.
However… is it possible that her smirk is really a sympathetic smile inviting me to forget my troubles? Perhaps her arms are raised as if to welcome me into her loving embrace. Yes, that must be it! Something so beautiful, so divine could not possibly wish me harm.
On sudden impulse, I run to my conveyance, thrilled when it hums to life. I think only of what I have come to do and not of the consequences of my daring actions. Heart pounding, gasping for breath, I throw my head back and cackle at my audacity. I finally arrive to the temple of the ivory damsel, clad in viridescent materials. I enter through the sacred doors, the stimulating aromas enveloping me in their gentle caress. Stepping forward, I finally hear the words that ease all traces of my apprehension.
“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?”
I am home.