‘Give up’ was not an expression I had ever used, except for that one time that I had quit. But that was weeks ago, and I was determined to unlock this perplexing mystery.
Examining the evidence was crucial. I fetched a glass bowl from the kitchen cupboard, and poured a small amount into its basin. A magnifying glass was nowhere to be found, so I leaned in close to study the contents fastidiously.
What sort of alchemy was this? Small particles floated lazily throughout, tiny slivers of God only knows what, dancing and swirling about like sea monkeys in a fishbowl. I ran the tip of my index finger through the cold liquid, lifting a few of the organisms out for observation. They remained limp and unmoving as I poked at them with the tongs of a spork. I suspected that they were merely playing ‘possum. Such conniving creatures, they were. I brought them even closer, hoping for some insight as to exactly what kind of bug they might be.
At that very same moment, my cat, undoubtedly high on catnip, dashed by clumsily and bumped into my chair. The bowl tilted and landed in my lap, and the jolt shook my arm abruptly, catapulting the minuscule deviants into my ocular orb. The ensuing pain was immediate.
I howled in distress as I jumped up, clutching my face. “My eye! They’re eating my eye!” I blindly stumbled into the kitchen, gasping as the evil parasites feasted on my retina. I couldn’t believe that I had been victimized by such sabotage. Apparently someone close to me had been secretly schooled in the dark arts of voodoo, and now my morning mocha was steadily crunching away at my cornea. I heard an approaching body behind me, so I turned unsteadily, desperately grasping their shirt. “Please help me! They’re headed for my brain!”
Through one teary eye, I could see them scrutinizing me, a smirk marring their indifferent features. “I’d say they’ll come up empty handed.”
Indignantly, I righted myself, poised as best I could despite my debilitating condition, and sputtered, “It was YOU, wasn’t it? You poisoned my mocha!”
“What are you babbling about? You left your mocha on the kitchen counter.” A warm and familiar cardboard cup was impatiently pushed into my trembling hands.
“Now give me back my orange juice.”
