Merely hours ago, I fell subject to what is classically known as a dilemma. Two forces colliding in opposition. Something I had to fight against. As some Eastern Philosophies believe, any challenge is in fact a gift, as it gives you something to push against and leads you to self-discovery. This situation struck me on a guttural level, yet spurred on the intellectual side of myself, pushing me to such thoughts the likes of which had never been thought of before! ...By me at least. ‘Tis a matter of personal taste though I suppose, for we were dealing with baked goods. Or baked bads, as we may discover them to be.

      On my jaunt home from a nearby Drink-and-Sit establishment, or a “bar” as they're called, I had a sudden hankering, much akin to how one feels a stirring in their groin when presented with a desirable mate. Excepting the truth that this particular sensation was located in my tooth... in fact, a specific tooth. My Sweet Tooth. Thankfully, my jaunt home from the “bar” took me right by a 24-hour doughnut distributory. Ah! Divine providence! Surely the vibrations of life must be attuned to that of my sweet tooth. How else could such perfect timing take place? Save yourself some time and don't research: there is no other way it could happen.

      Strolling in and bidding a fond, but rushed (as I was in such a hurry to satisfy my cravings) farewell to my friends, my eyes gazed upon the options presented in front of me. The colors of the store were the likes of which seen only by those near death and the newly born. That is to say, those few moments in life when we are closer to being spirit than mere physical meat, when our perception is as open as my desire was ravenous. In a word: very. In two words: very, very.

      My God. I was like a child in a candy factory. A puppy in a candy-for-puppy factory. A kitten in a yarn store. A puppy in a candy-for-puppy factory chasing a kitten who was under the impression he was in a yarn store. Twas one in particular that grabbed my attention when the thickly accented clerk asked me which I would like. Her accent toyed with our common tongue as a jazz artist teases a trumpet with his lips. As if she didn't know which was my objective... the twinkle of her eye was all too telling that she already knew what was to come. That sly devil.

      I raised a hand, pointed my pointer finger with such fine determination in what may have been my most masculine moment to date, my voice rang out clear as a bell and I spoke with such conviction that even the Pope himself would be moved by the sheer faith I held...faith in my own words.

      “Bavarian Crème Filled Doughnut. One.”

      The clerk went to fetch my prize, my Excalibur of flavor. My eyes closed momentarily, perhaps out of a subconscious jealousy and not wanting to see anyone but myself touch my sweet, sweet Holy Grail of taste. A moment of weakness and denial in an otherwise purely successful purchase, I know. Within moments however, the exchange took place. Economics occurred, and I let her keep the change. I had no need for it.

      After dashing out of the store to feast in privacy, I peered inside the bag. I saw not one but two doughnuts. But lo! There are more revelations to be had! For while there were plural, no singular Bavarian Crème was to be found! They were the incorrect kind. Tears found their way to my eyes. A void opened in my stomach. Reason and perspective lost their place in my world. Santa was a lie. I had to shoot “Old Yeller” myself. My girlfriend was Prom Queen, but someone else was Prom King. It was as if every horrid emotional scar on my soul erupted in a single moment, driving me into a state of shock that could only be broken by a miraculous realization, such as having two doughnuts when one expected one.

      ...Wait!

About the author:

Born in the summer of 85, Greg has been annoying the world in some fashion or another since. His writing has been spattered about the Southern California area and Chicago, mostly in theatrics and sketch. The Green Flash is his first literary endeavor. He likes to keep his bios how he doesn't like his underwear. That is to say, brief.