Mocha Brownies

It all begins when you look at the rich, mahogany colored, thin and smooth surface of the miraculous brownie. The color alone invites thoughts of eating into your mind, the smooth surface infuses an interesting curiosity. A precise square is formed as the knife sculpts and leaves a slightly moistened wake. The perfect shape is professional and appetizing. The cut releases an aroma, full of warm coffee beans and sweetened cocoa, a homely smell that brings people floating through the door, hoping for just a crumb.

As the Betty Crocker Mocha-Brownie is placed before you, you notice the colorful beads of chocolate sprinkled on top, immediately recognized as mini M&Ms. A wonderful, new idea for the common box mix brownie. My friend Jared smiles and graciously invites you to enjoy his treat.

    A Salivating mouth, waits impatiently to experience the flood of taste soon to come. Once a piece of brownie has taken place on the fork, it is guided to the mouth. As the scrumptious piece melts on the tongue a homely, comforting sensation warms the soul. A brownie that is perfectly moistened and fluffy, pleasing the taste buds with a desirable balance of mocha and chocolate.

Suddenly the crunch of the M&Ms adds a new dimension. The addition creates a relationship like that between a firm, hearty man and a calm, trustworthy woman. The pair unseperable, once they have found a comfortable place together.

After the short time it takes to create this remarkable brownie, a smile is found along with the feeling of accomplishment, despite the little nutritional value it holds. Surprisingly this fulfilling brownie was made from a box mix, although one might never be able to guess this single shortcoming because of the rich, fresh flavor. I would definitely recommend this delectable brownie to any who wish for a soothing, homely dessert.

It was tasted professional despite the informal setting of a small college apartment. This was a charming atmosphere that comfortably seated at least ten people with the stadium seating couches. The chef and waiters were kind and friendly, warmly inviting us back countless times for other delicacies. It was a remarkably cheap dessert, not even a penny was wanted in trade, rather a tip paid in kindness and a promise for cookies another day. The brownie was well worth the price. If you get the chance, visit my friend Jared to share this journey in eating his delicious Betty Crocker Mocha Brownies, with mini M&Ms.

Don't open the door

Dear Arthur Kipps,

When you are in a house that is silent, except a heart throbbing, mysterious pounding in the upstairs nursery, your first instinct might be to find what is making the noise. You might even feel as Edgar Allan Poe elucidates, “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” Were you possibly dreaming to see your long dead wife? I must beg you to come out of that wishful moment and look at the facts in front of you. There is that incredulous pounding coming from a room formerly thought to be empty in an old house. A house thought unoccupied just moments before.  A house left to be sold by an estranged mother who angrily committed suicide. After reviewing the former I would most definitely advise you not to open that door.

You have been in this bleak little town long enough to see people die, to glimpse a dark soulless ghost and to be at least slightly knowledgeable about the crazed mentally lost Jennet Humfrye who once lived there.

You should have been told enough to know that Ms. Humfrye is a mother who desperately fought for a child she didn’t have the mental stability to care for. If her child had stayed he could have possibly by emotionally wrecked and physically scarred in her care. The poor sweet innocent child was killed in the depths of a marshland. This child’s caregiver had been tricked into a visit like a rat eating craved cheese from a trap. This distraught mother couldn’t handle what had happened to her beautiful small boy. Dealing with the disparing loss led her to think of only one option; she hanged herself.

This relieving event caused the village to hope that this vicious woman would finally be gone but their desperate plea was shattered by a line of mysterious deaths. Village children were dying in simple painful ways and at every heartbreaking death a sudden glimpse of the heartless vengeful woman.

Shame on you if you don’t believe in ghosts, Ghosts roam the earth right next to the living. “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” according to Mr. Poe.

Mr. Kipp, how could you be so mindless to open the door to the murderous queen. This wench thrives on the blood of children and you do in fact have precious son to protect. Your son is the only living person left to carry on your late wife’s heir. Holding him in mind at the very least should keep you from opening that door despite the curiosity coursing through your veins. When the door to death is shut, it is most important for that door to stay shut. Opening the door to the wicked Pandora’s Box is not the option to choose.

If  you continue to feel the urge to go through that door that holds a curse to haunt generations for eternity, you surely have an incredibly sluggishly selfish mind. I am clearly explaining shortly and simply why opening the door would be an idea that is as friendly and comforting as an atomic bomb. Here I sit writing this letter even though a wiser writer once said, “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality,” Maybe these next words will be enough to impress your mind.

After selling your soul to devilish Jennet, leaving your needy hands to shake and perspire, causing your mind to become torn hopeless, letting fill with bizarre, threatening voices causing your morals and dreams to be ripped apart you will see.

I can only hope that after realizing you have left your son to a gruesome and heart wrenching fate. After seeing him die with a blank look rather than a hopeful tear stained face. You will finally realize that block of wood acting as a simple sturdy door, is the only thing keeping you from this murderous tormenting woman with a flagitious mind.

Freedom.

The wind blows against her face, an ecsatic laugh bursts from her lips. Amazingly low below, the hard sturdy ground seems like only a dream. The power of the push towards the sky and the fright of the chance that gravity will wins takes presence in her heart. Her heart pounds uncontrollably, fear poisoning her veins for a slight moment but the feeling of freedom conquers the fright. Happily she finally finds her place. The soaring blows a smile onto her face. The beam of happiness radiates to the world before. She plans to never come down and soars along the clouds away from all the sadness she once knew, never to be bothered again. But to live on in true glory.

Dragons.

Her heart beats quickly, moisture clings to her face, her breath is heavy. Her eyes scramble looking for safety before the glossy zoning takes over. She knows the most feared is on its way. Her hands shake even as her legs sprint hopelessly. What happens when it comes? No one knows exactly for the monster takes all that come looking leaving no story to tell by lips, but told instead by gruesome ends. She knows every moment counts in this fateful chase. Her hopes for Glory and Fame are pathetically put to an end.

The End.

Finally I have something to write about. My inspiration has come from Erin and her lovely blog. 

I wonder if after I write this you will read it, 

It used to begin with once upon a time.

Yet I have a feeling that will never happen again. 

I see you every day, whether you notice or not. 

I have already let go of what we used to be, 

but I am still there holding you up 

and supporting you in doing what's right, 

that for sure will never change, 

and though I may seem more than hurt,

you are always forgiven, 

in reality it is me who needs forgiving.

It broke my heart to tear that fairy tale apart.

I tried my best to do it the right way 

But that was still my first time

and now I know how bad I must have hurt you 

because I am finally being hurt myself. 

Half of that is the way you treat me, 

like I am the only person who makes you miserable. 

Like being around me is the most dreadful part of your day. 

I am sorry that you feel that way.

Though you probably think I have it all wrong. 

I know I asked for ridiculous things, 

and over stepped my boundaries, 

but I am still trying to be your friend, just your friend. 

It's simply now I am not trying so hard. 

Why should I try that hard when I am sick of torturing myself? 

Torture from bringing myself back to those times when I had my own fairytale. 

Torture because I felt so bad for hurting you,

for leaving at what seemed the most important time to stay. 

Tortured, tortured, tortured for doing what was right,

for doing what I knew had to be done. 

I am sick of torturing myself for that. 

I know you never asked me to torture myself, 

that it was my own unconscious decision. 

but to stop the torture I might seem a little cold

a little less sorry,

a little more sarcastic

a little more rude.

I am sorry if you end up reading these too honest words. 

Soon I can finally let go completely, 

I just have to get away. 

I can't right now because everyday you are shoved in my face. 

Making me question myself.

I know that we will never be like that again. 

But you were my first love, 

my first boyfriend, 

my first kiss, 

the first hand I held, 

and the first true best friend.

how am I supposed to stop the torturing when you are falling in love again? 

When you are dating much more often than I?

When I haven't been on a date since you were the one asking. 

When I can't take any boy seriously?

So here are my feelings, 

spilling out on this poor blog. 

In almost poetic harmony, 

or terrifying hurtful words. 

now I can finally search for my Happily Ever After.

picture perfect.

She walks down the street almost clumsily Not nervous like other girls might be Her hips sway and her head is tilted, constantly wondering Her shiny smooth hair swings across her back her happy smile a permanent feature on her face she's Everything a simply gullible girl might be. Then you meet her ice breaking blue eyes with a realization she might just manipulate this is a girl that only a man might admire. a girl who seems absent minded enough to never understand delicate enough to always need a friend but curious enough to always let go along the same street a sad man approaches frowns permanent creases on his face his eyes seem droopy from all the tears cried his head falls up for a mere moment and he sees the beautiful deceitful girl with ice breaking blue eyes and a clumsy hip swaying walk with a happy laughter curling out anger flashes through his hands he hides before she sees his sad careful eyes hiding no deceit he pulls it from his jacket and lifts it to the front he takes a careful aim the shot is surely taken though a blast is never heard his evidence is never found the flash gave none away his anger is deflated her happiness not taken but captured is that second sitting forever on his wall a special picture perfect moment. photo by: By phlubdr

Fiery Anger

Peaceful anger rages inside
The poor little girl with so much to hide.
She knows too much
the hurt starts to show.
So she pulls on a cover
hoping others won't know.

a few breaths don't cool
Her sweet fire deep inside
it soars high towards her heart
A Poison spreading swiftly

The heat of her heart
burns her brain to a crisp
the next man to come
may soon fall to her flame
So the poison fire of anger
rages onward for fame

a nervous breakdown waiting to happen
the tears hopeful pooling
to extinguish the hate
but nothing can stop this feeling
Her anger causing the disaster.