There are few times where coffee is a good thing for me. There are fewer times when I should be given large coffees. If I sleep well and drink coffee, I am a squirrel, a rabid one and someone stole my nuts, and goodness do I want my nuts back.
I stare at the screen, typing emails faster than I ought, double booking, and all I can think is, “Is it almost over? Is the day near completion? Am I almost out of here? There is a snow plow we need to lift. I might lift it on my own. Why? Because COFFEEEEEEEE!”
But I’m only halfway done with the cup, and I shall not leave my work incomplete! I shall finish it, consume it, insert it into my veins, eyes bloodshot and wide as the excitement fills my every fiber, and we become one. My coffee high takes over, and I am complete, a man who has seen Nirvana, swirling about the peripherals of my vision. But I ask you, do you know life until you have felt this rush, this explosion of colors in front of my eyes, this umbra that slowly eats away at my peripheral, oh what sweet release do you promise!?
But there is a price for feeling alive, for flying so close to the sun that Brahma’s arms are wide open to me, attempting to accept me into his loving presence. Kali will claim me as her own, catch me by the foot and drag me down into her depths and smother me as the blood thins and I piss away this high, this life, this overload of stimulation and energy. And in her bosom I will find death, and I shall cease to exist as anything more than a husk, drooling at my desk, praying for the sweet release of 5. But Brahma will beckon me, he will tempt me with another cup of coffee. But oh, how that second cup is never as good as the first.
Someone…please…take this cup away.
Fantasy Writer and Cartographer
Speculative Fiction Author
Fun, fantastical escapes
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Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
"Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar" - E.B. White
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I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.