In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: Eat, Drink, and Be Merry…
I tasted the beer before my lips gazed the rim of the glass. The taste was both refreshing and overwhelming, like eating a spoon full of chocolate ice cream, I couldn’t drink more than a sip of a sip before putting down the glass. The waves of the impact in the beer clashed against the glassed barrier creating a tidal wave within that pored over the pint sized glass cup. “Hey!” a familiar voice shouted, “That’s good beer you’re wasting. Savor it it will be your last.” I look up at my yelling adviser. I was he and he was I with a name tag that read Hello My Name Is: Furious.
“Leave him alone I’m sure he didn’t mean to spill it,” said another with the same curly hair as me accept his name tag read Forgiving.
“That is exactly the point! I don’t want to waste our reaming beverage because this guy couldn’t hold his beer!”
“Yeah maybe you’re right. This is our last meal.”
Before I got the chance to defend myself the whiff of marinara invaded my nose causing my stomach to turn every direction but the proper. A man with glasses that mirrored mine entered the room with a tray of Hot Pockets and the name Optimistic glued to his chest. “Don’t worry guys I have brought the food! Pepperoni Hot Pockets. It was all I could find in the fridge. They might be a bit expired but I tasted one and I couldn’t even taste the difference.” He placed the tray in the center of the round small table and proceeded to grab one making a MMM sound as he took a bite out of the wannabe calzone. The racket of his chewing made me queasy from my head to my belly, fighting the urge to not vomit the so-called good beer. “I don’t know. What if it’s not as good as you think and we have a terrible final meal?” I didn’t have to look at him to hear the Pessimistic in his voice. “Well Pess my old friend,” replied another voice, not to sure who at this point I’m too busy holding my insides from coming up, “at least we will feats and die a horrible death together.” Kill me now.
“Well let’s stop talking and start feasting. I’m done with this crap,” someone shouted furiously.
“Alright. Yeah. Let’s Cheer”
“CHEERS!” they all yelled in unison as the clash of glass covered the sound of my gag as I vomited on our great horrible final meal.