Regret

       I grasped the blindingly white dixie cup with displeasure. Within its contents sat a liquid resembling something like that of kitten blood. Lazily the drink rested, as if it were a fat lady after a long power walk. I drew the cup nearer to my nostrils and bravely took a whiff. A pungent smell awaited me, it was: mouldy, old, dry and offensive. Oh boy. Making the mistake of my life I took a swig of the beverage. It tasted as if I were spending a Friday night with my grandmother doing sudoko and putting puzzles together. God I despise her. The beverages personality then coincidentally took shape. The punch was boring and lazy, never in its life had it picked up a football. Harnessing all of my senses I began to hear something off in the distance. It was my mother nagging at me to take out the garbage. Did this drink have an upside? Then it got worse. My skin began to crawl as if spiders were meandering on me freely. The drink defeated me, it was an ogre with a hammer. I collapsed the cup within my grasp swiftly, it crumpled like my dignity. Throwing the cup in the garbage I breathed out a sigh of relief, the agony was over.