The Liquid Gold Rush

Excellence Award in the 'Write As Rain 2014' competition

I had never seen this brown milk before. I watched a tall girl drink some, her friends glaring jealously.

Without thinking about my actions, I marched over to this chick. “Can I smell that?” The look on her face reminded me of how crazy I sounded, but I had to inhale that aroma. She started to stammer a reply, scared the answer would be no, I stuck my nose in her drink anyway. A sugary scent filled my nostrils reminding me of pastries I was never allowed to consume. I held my breath, hoping to hold in the deliciousness that sent my mind reeling. “Thanks,” I muttered, stumbling backwards.

“Where does this brown goodness come from?” I asked, my voice airy.
“Uhh, the tuckshop for $1.50,” she replied, her attitude suddenly returning.

Backing away, I stumbled drunkenly to the tuckshop. I arrived at the serving window, the lady’s triple chin and sadistic smile not deterring me from the mission. “Can I help you?” she queried.

“I want some brown milk!” I shouted drawing attention from a sad mob of students nearby who looked at me like the 'physco' I was becoming. Within seconds, I held the glorious substance in my hand. Giddily I traded my coins for this taste of heaven. With a disapproving shake of her head, Jane Doe's wattle waved me goodbye.

As I left the canteen, I admired the bottle. “Brr… Breeka...Breaka,” I stammered, getting a feel for the word. I was excited that I had finally found the name of this liquid gold. “Breaka,” I laughed. “Breaka!” I called. A withering glare shot my way ended my trance.

I knew what came next. I knew what I had to do. I did as the instructions said and shook well. The time had come. I twisted the cap off the bottle, the sound of the plastic snapping was music to my ears. Once again I breathed this fragrance that held me captive. I swirled the bottle, brown, milky suds slapping the sides. Not wanting to wait any longer, I took a small sip and swallowed, the creamy deliciousness cooling my throat.

Deciding that I loved this beverage, I raised the bottle, my lips anticipating the rush. But a delinquent ran past, knocking my life from my hands. “No!” I cried sinking into the depths of despair.

Depressed, I crumpled to the hard ground and died.

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