Collin's Milka

The hours dragged on in an endless haze as the afternoon quickly disappeared into the forgotten relapses of memory. How long have I been laying there? How long have I idled blankly waiting for something?

What was that something? There were no plans made for tonight. After all, a Tuesday in the middle of a busy week was not a time for laziness. Yet with the forever growing list things to do and the lack of the will to even sit upright on my bed, this Tuesday was devoted solely to nothing.

There were three beds in that room. Each directly across from a desk that stood parallel to the foot on the opposite wall. The three of us that shared that room ranged from, cold shower every morning for discipline, to makes his bed but is still messy, to me. The third of the room, that was my responsibility, contained so much dirty laundry that it would need three machines to do the full load. But who wants to carry that down and fill up three machines? So, it stays there.

My stomach growled. Something sweet would be nice. I glance at the pile of half dirty sweaters and the desk underneath them makes eye contact with me.

“No, I don’t have any food for you. You ate it.”

Oh right, I did. Shifting my shoulder, the thought of walking all the way into town seemed like a greater feat than even tackling that mountain of socks. Settling back, entirely content in this mediocrity of utter pointlessness. I don’t have chocolate, I won’t have chocolate, it was a nice dream, but alas, forever gone.

Glancing around the room something grabbed my attention. A lighthouse through that misty haze of total negligence beamed from the desk just to the right of my crumpled suit jacket. Milka? Collin’s Milka? By the red tag stating “neu,” just visible in the corner of the packaging, it is instantly distinguished as not only milka but the dark chocolate milka. This gift from on high that graced man for the first time only a couple weeks ago would put Hector’s nectar to shame. If capitalism ruled the world at the sack of Troy, there is no doubt that Homer’s meter would have told of Athena’s dark and chocolatey gift from on high.

Again though, Collin’s chocolate.

As my dreamy gaze deepens on that beautiful creation, it hit me. God created the world for all men. Monetary statue and mere possession do not inherently imply an exclusive relationship between the property and the owner.

No. Theft is wrong. Theft is always wrong. The mere desire for that creamy bar of the divine, give me no right.

My stomach rumbled.

Who would dare separate me for one of the closest material substances to the Platonic form of the Good?

My conscience twinges.

If I were to stand up from my nest, in the loving embrace of my blankets, it would be the end of that bar which was so carefully selected by my roommate.

But that would involve standing up. The overwhelming sensation of near pathetic immobility hit all at once. That desire which was driving my passions toward the unthinkable act of vanquishing the insurmountable good, resting peacefully on Collin’s desk, was quickly snuffed out by the sloth that consumed nearly every aspect of my being. Shifting my shoulders again I settled disappointedly into my chocolate-less abode. And so, I stayed there.

So did the milka.

I glance over once again and like a lion, crouching in the savannah, my instincts overcame my vicious rest and, taking control entirely over my body, I sprang from my bed.

Not two steps from my former home in the comforters, the buzz of a key card unlocking the door, shattered my lonely solitude. Oblivious, entirely unaware, Collin briskly walked into the room.

Shock, fear, then anger piled on me in a consecutive series of hidden emotions and to hid my uncommitted crime, I made a hard turn towards my closet. Grabbing several sweaters and hanging them in the near-empty wardrobe, I pretended to be disappointed in myself for leaving the room in such a godless state of chaos and disorder.

Collin scuttled around. Put a book in his bag. Rolled a cigarette. Then, at last, satisfied with his work he turned to leave. God, however, has a humorous way of punishing the evildoer. In that fateful moment, something on high overcame the bodily form of my beloved roommate. Without thinking, without seeming to express any effort what so ever, he grabbed the bar and busted out of the room.

Morality has a way of forcing itself upon one when they least want it too. Then again, morality was not the source of my complete dissatisfaction. I crossed over to my bed and resumed my thoughtless idleness. The chocolate was gone and along with it any chance of my happiness.

Scanning the room again, which was completely empty of all milka, my heart stopped. On the furthest desk, David’s desk, behind his copy of the Divine Office, was the corner of some sort of plastic bag. Straining my neck, I saw it. Calling to me. Tempting me.

It was not milka, not any type of chocolate. Nevertheless, I have always, since as long as I can remember, had a soft spot for those sour gummies.