I have come to tell you all my story in the hopes that you will take it as a warning. There are powers that humans were never meant to harness, and the tale I am about to tell is proof of that.
It started innocently enough. After I woke up at approximately 2 AM from falling asleep at my computer, I realized I had made no progress in writing the three-page essay that has a deadline of this Friday. Determined to spend as much time as I could in the following hours working on this essay, I came upon the idea that I should mix a beverage that would keep me awake for as long a period of time as possible. It was then that the seminal idea that brought about my current state formed in my mind:
"What would Utsuho make if she were in my position?"
In my sleep-deprived state, I was unable to second-guess such a drastic proposition and started up my Utsuho playlist, heading down to the kitchen where I was to make this horrible concoction.
As
The crow of 'YATA' blared in my ears, I started boiling water and began examining what we had in the kitchen. I knew I would need coffee; that was an essential ingredient. Therefore, the first thing I did was open a bag of pecan-flavor coffee grounds and dumped a tablespoon of them into a mug. For the next step, I took a bag of cardamom tea (as it was the strongest tea I was aware that we had), tore it open, and dumped the contents on top of the black pile. Then I suddenly went mad with inspiration, adding a tablespoon of sugar, a bag of baked apple oatmeal, a bag of rich hot chocolate, and a tablespoon of cinnamon.
I should have known something was wrong when
I heard this the instant I set my eyes on the bottle of cayenne. But I didn't heed the warning fate had given me, and mad with desperation I dumped a tablespoon of the damned powder into the mixture. Finally the water boiled, and I poured it into the mug with a good helping of soy milk to try to alleviate the pain I was subconsciously aware was in my future. For some reason, perhaps to gauge the power of this abomination, I slipped a leftover candy cane over the rim. The thing now looked akin to a sulfur pit, and I stirred it cautiously as I made my way back to my computer, carrying two oranges as a countermeasure in case I found myself over my limits.
Once I reached my desk, I started to have second thoughts. I wondered if this really was such a good idea, and the nagging reminder of the heap of pepper I had dumped in earlier replayed over and over in the back of my mind. The fact that the part of the candy cane that had been submerged was now half its previous diameter did nothing to alleviate my concern, though I quickly pushed that aside as a natural result of the boiling water and proceeded to take the first sip.
The first thing I was aware of was a sickly sweet taste. It actually tasted rather good, the cinnamon and chunks of baked apple providing a nice flavor alongside the pecan coffee. But then, a millisecond later, the kick of the cayenne hit my tongue like the sting of a scorpion. My concerns only grew stronger as I gagged on the liquid, but on the other hand, I was suddenly gripped by an intense feeling of power. I was fully alert and suddenly motivated to make progress, and I quickly took another drink, feeling the seductively painful sting once more.
As I continued working, upon another sip I became aware of the fact that, not twenty minutes after I had placed it in the mug, the submerged part of the candy cane was completely disintegrated. I had not even touched the sweet since I put it in; this was all the work of that damned concoction. Once I had reached the halfway point, I finally began feeling the truly adverse effects of my creation. My nose would not stop running, and I began feeling a stabbing pain behind my left eye. My right shoulder also began to ache, but I brushed that aside as nothing more than a flu sore and continued drinking and reading my sources for the paper.
I think it was a few minutes later that I finally realized just what I had done, though I had not yet accepted it. My obsession with the power this drink had given me brought me my own downfall as I was filled with so much energy that I could hardly focus. Finally, I had degenerated to the point where, when my mind should have been filled with thoughts of Louisiana's Black Confederate regiment, all I could think of were thoughts of burning and wondering about the properties of nuclear power. My chest and stomach ached by this point, and the stabbing pain behind my left eye had only grown in propensity. I wanted desperately to eat one of the citrus fruits I had brought for just this occasion, but the cry for greater power consumed my mind. I shunned the fruit that could have possibly saved me and instead turned to the very thing that was destroying me.
By the time I reached the bottom, my state had deteriorated to the point where I had started to develop an urge to collect shiny objects, I started to wonder if an eye was emerging from my chest, and I was seriously afraid of looking in the mirror for the fear that I would see trefoils in my irises. As I stared into the sludge at the bottom of my mug (previously a rather inviting brown color, but now a cold, heartless mess of pitch-black darkness), I truly came to accept the horrible effects of this power I had discovered. I began to debate with myself over what I should do with this sin against mankind. Throwing it away or flushing it down the toilet was considered, but the nagging possibility that some helpless creature would come upon it and become consumed by the same madness that I had brought upon myself ate at my conscience. I think it was the fact that what was left of my candy cane had fallen into the mess that caused me to make my final decision.
As the
final song on my Utsuho playlist started playing, I accepted my fate and determined to save my inanimate, U-shaped companion. I grabbed hold of the mug, brought the rim to my lips, and choked down the offending sludge.
The next few moments were unbearable. All the worst of the concoction had condensed at the bottom, creating a mess of bitter sweetness and vile, stinging spice. My stomach screamed at me to stop, that it wasn't worth it, that I shouldn't destroy myself further just for the sake of a tasty bend of sweetness, but I was too far gone. In my last moments, before my soul and words exhausted themselves and turned to ash, I determined that I would never do such a hideous thing again, and prayed that whatever force lay witness to this would one day forgive me.
I have since eaten those two oranges, and the burning taste of radioactive pain has since left my mouth. But my body has not yet recovered, and only half a page of this essay has been written in the two hours since I started. I succeeded in my goal of creating the ultimate power, but I was overconfident. Humans were not meant to control this power, and I am here to warn you of this. I have named the offending elixir that I discovered the Caffeine of the Black Sun, and like Utsuho's consumption of the Yatagarasu, it is an experience that should never be repeated.
For the love of all that is good and holy, don't do this.
