You’d Be Prettier If You Smiled

This is my entry into the NYC Midnight Rhyming Story Challenge. The parameters were 600 words max, Genre: Action/Adventure, Theme: Hunger, Emotion: Infuriated. Let me know what you think in the comments.

It was a day like no other,

It started out shitty

When the barista said

Smile more, you’d be pretty. 

So I gave him the finger,

Stomped away in a huff.

Left without breakfast and coffee,

Hoping a tic tac would be enough

To get me through to lunch

Or maybe a snack.

What was this? Construction ahead

Please cut me some slack. 

So I turn down an alley,

A shortcut to work,

When a pack of dogs confronts me

All going berserk. 

I use my only superpower 

Calming techniques through DBT.

The dogs start to back down

They can feel my energy. 

I make it to my desk

With five minutes to spare.

I ask my cubicle mate

If she’s got a granola bar to share.

“Nothing for you,” she says. 

Oh, don’t be such a twat. 

I just asked for a snack

That’s not really a lot. 

That canine confrontation sapped me

I can feel my temper rise. 

What I wouldn’t give for a donut 

Or hell a burger and fries. 

Then it hits me, 

Alleluia, I am saved.

My emergency quarters

In my desk for a rainy day.

To the snack machine I go

Clutching my quarters tight.

The Funyuns and Cheezits beckon,

They are such a beautiful sight. 

Motherfucker no. 

This isn’t happening to me. 

The bag is stuck in the coil.

Dear Satan let me be. 

I shake the machine

Then lean my head and cry. 

I think it’ll be easier 

If I lie here and die. 

Limited PTO

Gets my butt back to my desk.

I’ll have to trudge through 

I can only try my best. 

I pull up a file

And start the pre-edits.

The words run together

My stomach gives me fits.

Somehow I manage 

Over the next three hours

To beat back the belly demons

Though I can still feel their glowers.

11:30 hits,

This bitch is out

Lunchtime fuckers

Let the hungry child out. 

Move it, dude, 

You’re moving so slow

Tie your shoes elsewhere 

I’m a woman on the go. 

I get to my favorite haunt 

Without much of a fuss.

The tide is turning my way

I hope, I pray, I trust. 

Much to my horror

I see the handwritten note:

The fryer is down, 

No food today, no hope. 

And then I feel it rising 

From my gut to my cheeks,

Anger so deep

It’s been simmering for weeks.

In the blink of an eye

My head just popped

Brains and goo all over 

That poor falafel shop. 

Official cause of death

Temper tantrum caused by hanger

A leading cause in young women 

A fatal unspoken danger. 

So, you see, St Pete

There’s no way I’d be dead

If that asshole barista

Had given me my breakfast instead. 

I stand before you

A victim of circumstance.

Please let me into heaven.

Please take a chance.