One Brownie Too Far

Abbey loves books and always wanted to be a writer. This poetry workshop was going to be awesome if not for Joel green.

Joel green, the mean machine, long and lean and full of spleen. Yes, he is pretentious enough that he only capitalizes his first name. He wears green track suits every day. His specialty is poems about potted herbs. The crazy thing? The critics EAT IT UP.

The brownies. Green eggs and ham, with spam, with fruit jam. They were laced. Then they crash in their chair afterwards, thinking thoughts they wouldn’t have thought low. Joel green, like a bean, never clean but often seen, peeling off a tangerine while dancing with a tambourine.

They could taste colors, smell darkness, hear the voices of the candles burning on the coffee table. "Woah," said Abby. "Yeah," said Grant. Slowly the buzz of the brownies faded away and the world seemed duller. Abby and Grant looked at each other. "Wanna go again?"

“Heck yeah!” Replied Abby. But little did she know she was about to go one brownie too far. She scoffed it down all in one and the next thing she knew she was waking up in a cold, damp alley face down in a manhole laden in cuts and bruises. She was too weak to move.

"Ma'am?" I grunted in response. "Are you alright? Do I need to call an ambulance?" I barely lifted my head and squinted at the man, puzzled. "Where am I?" "Downtown, ma'am." "No, what time am I?" "I'm sorry?" the man looked disturbed. "The year?" I say, rolling over. "2082."