Author's Note: This piece is about something I did over the weekend which was originally a journal I just decided to post. I really worked on word choice.
We lined the intricate pieces of silver perfectly next to each other, the brown powder leveled off precisely where the cutting edge of the scoop stopped. A spoonful of cinnamon. Both of us, took the silver handle between our fingers and held it in front of our closed mouths. "Gosh, I don't wannaa do thiis," Sara groaned eyeing the spoon evilly. "Power through!" I broke into a grin, pumping my fist in the air enthusiastically. "Ready," she started, giving her a leisurely pause to prepare herself for the heaping of death, "Set. Go." We shoved the spoons onto our awaiting tongues and waited for a reaction we were scared to experience. It did not disappoint, the results happened almost immediately. It felt as if my throat was closing in and I clenched my eyes shut, trying to keep the powder in my mouth. I attempted to swallow, but it wouldn't go down; it burned furiously in my throat to the point where I held no control when a puff of powder spurted from my mouth and all over the counter, Sara coughed repeatedly over the counter trying to coax the cinnamon from her throat. I had a different idea. I turned the faucet on to a stream of cold water and thrust my mouth underneath. I pulled away, allowing Sara her turn and we alternating spitting clumps of brown into the sink. We finally met eye contact, grinning at the stupidity of it all. "Just did the cinnamon challenge," we typed later onto Sara's Facebook status, "Never again." And with that we clicked send, whirling the warning words into the clutches of the world.