Death by chocolate

Get it together. Make a to-do list. Write an e-mail. Schedule a meeting. But also, stop by engineering to fix your laptop. Wait, but first get a cup of coffee now because you won't have time later in the day. No, that's not a good idea, you're under deadline. Oh, and at some point you have to stop by your boss' office to drop off receipts.

You pause and take a breath. Okay, what to do first...what to do first...You glance at the clock on your screen, it's 1:30. You have four hours left on the clock. You can do this. Four hours of hell then you're out the door.

Okay but what does that solve when you have to re-live it again tomorrow? You promised yourself you wouldn't be at a job where you're always looking at the clock. But here you are, watching the smaller hand of each second tick away silently. This is no fun.

"Veronica, get in here when you have a moment," says your boss, yelling from inside his office.

You get up and walk over, you always deal with these situations first so you can get it over with.

"Well hi," says your boss in a weird, fake accent. You grit your teeth and try to smile, but you've never been good at faking anything. People can read you like a book. You're also a bad liar, so you keep your mouth shut while all the other reporter's kiss ass. You wouldn't be able to make it believable. But you still try to be a good person.

"Hello," you say, and sit down.

He asks you about your weekend, and then starts telling you about his. Usually you don't mind these conversations but you still have a story to report for the 5 o'clock news and time's ticking away.

"Oh, and do you have any special project ideas for sweeps?" he says

Fuck. That caught your attention. Sweeps and ratings. Is it really that time of the year? You're trying to think of your last special project series, and how well that did with the Nielsen ratings. You can't remember if it did so well with ratings, but it did give you a solid reputation in the community. Which is what you needed since you're still new to the area. Already you feel on the edge about everything else, and thinking about that last series has you stressing even more. There was no help, no communication, no feedback from your team. You felt left out in the cold, and here you know it's going to be another round of the same frustrations.

You sit up straight and list off a few that's been swirling around your mind.

"There's a group of prisoners that write stories, fiction, poetry, etc. I think it would be cool to interview and feature them. There's also an art festival coming up, featuring work from disabled veterans. We can talk to them..."

You drone on, not sure if he's listening. He keeps checking his phone, he's not making eye contact. He gives no verbal indication he's listening, he rubs his face as if he's stressed. This is the norm.

"Well," he says, "Keep brainstorming." He turns back to face his computer.

You're not surprised. This is how it usually is. At first his reactions felt like a slap in the face, but now these conversations are just another item on your to-do list.

You walk out of his office, obviously being dismissed.

You stand at your desk and catch a glimpse of your car keys. You don't even think about it, you grab them. "I'll be back, I'm going to lunch."

You probably don't have time for lunch, but a mocha frappe with dark chocolate almonds is calling your name.

You step out into the hot, humid heat. The sun feels like it's boiling water and it smells like a swamp. Damp, dirty, and sticky.

Maybe you'll get ice cream instead. Actually, that sounds a lot better. You unlock your car and roll down the windows. Hot air meets the damp air and you're already sweating. You look down and see the wet marks on your grey dress.

That doesn't matter. All you care about is a brownie fudge sundae with caramel drizzle. Pecans. Cookies and cream ice cream instead of vanilla. You put your car in drive and head out the front gate. This stupid gate. They spent thousands of dollars on this gate to "protect us" after several incidents of reporter's being hassled. Except those reporters being hassled were out in the field reporting. How's this gate going to protect us when we're ten miles down the road, doing a live-shot?

You shake your head and think a chocolate chip cookie sounds nice too. You think about the brown sugar, thick chocolate chip cookies with CHUNKS of milk chocolate pieces. Not dark chocolate, which would probably even out the sweetness of brown sugar, but MILK chocolate, so it's just straight sweetness coming at you. Like swallowing serotonin straight.

You pass by one of you co-workers as you head out. She says she's from the same city you're from, but she's not. She's from a smaller town thirty miles outside the city. You heard she tried getting another one of your co-workers fired. You wave and she ignores you, driving in as you head out.

You laugh. Ha, fuck these people. You floor it to get ice cream, heading to the old-school drive-in.

"Can I get a brownie fudge sundae. Extra fudge. Cookies and cream ice cream instead of vanilla. Can I also get a chocolate chip cookie. And a brownie." You throw in the brownie order for later, after work when you know you're going to need another pick-me up.

The waitress looks at you. "Sure, anything to drink?" She's eyeing you, trying to go through her memory, figuring out if she knows you. This happens a lot.

"Water," you say.

"Okay, sugar," she says. You laugh silently. You're going to be 99% full of sugar after this. You look at your dashboard. It's 2:15. You take out your phone and start writing your story in your notes app. You realize you can probably stay here until 4:30...all your video's in and really all you need to do is send in emails and upload your script so the producers have it. It's tempting.

A message notification buzzes in. It's your boss, "Hey...."

You scream silently. He always does this. Why can't he just type the entire message in one line?

"Here you go." You jump. The waitress hands you your order. The ice cream's already melting, dripping down the side, mixing with the fudge. The stickiness passing to your hands the moment you grab it from the waitress. She's still eyeing you, trying to figure out how she knows you.

ON TV, you want to scream, but instead you say "Thank you," as she hands you your brownie and chocolate chip cookie.

Your phone buzzes with the onslaught of message notifications. You ignore them as take a huge bite into the chocolate chip cookie. Warm, gooey. Perfect. You open up the lid of the ice cream and toss it onto the passenger seat. You take the plastic spoon, scooping up the right ratio of brownie to ice cream...it bends as you slice into the brownie portion. The cold ice cream mixed with the crunchy, cookie chunks and the fudginess of the brownie hit your tastebuds. Straight shot of serotonin it's so good.

You take a sip of your water, enjoying this little moment of bliss. Your phone buzzes with message notifications. You sigh and take a look. You'll deal with your boss later but right now you decide to finish your script. You finish typing it and send it in. You take in another spoonful of your sundae, this bite a little too big. The brownie hits the back of your throat and you cough.

Fuck. Some of the ice cream got onto your dress. You're trying to not let the entire contents of your mouth spill out, but that brownie chunk is hitting the part of your throat that makes you gag. You're trying to breathe through your noise but that's impossible. You search desperately for the bag where the waitress handed you your pastries in and see it on the passenger side floor. Your hand reaches out to grab it, but at this point you're wheezing.

I'm choking, you realize. Your body starts convulsing. You try unbuckling your seatbelt but you can't. You decide to let the ice cream drip through your mouth, but the brownie's already lodged in your throat. It's really starting to hit you, you realize you're seeing black. You're wheezing. Now you really can't see anything in front of you, it's just really spotty bright lights from the sun or darkness.

Your thoughts aren't thoughts anymore but instincts. There's one flash of a bright light, you hear the music from outside. Your phone's buzzing with message notifications. You can't feel anything. You think your body's convulsing, but you're not sure. Slower and slower these sensations leave you. The lights are getting darker. You hear pounding in your head and you see nothing. Darkness. Light's out.