Picking up where I left off with prompts, I've come to Angie's. Her suggestion was this:
It was, simply put, the worst day of my life. But then the mailman came in the late afternoon and...
…lo and behold, he had chocolate. Chocolate! Who doesn’t love chocolate? Maybe my cursed day would turn around yet.
“Heh’s some fudgy brahnies mah mam made. He’p yo’self,” he said.
Really, it was exciting. How many mail carriers barrel around with sweets in tow? And how had he known I’d need a pick-me-up at three p.m.? It was too good to be true, I thought. But when I eyed his weathered and wrinkled face, I saw goodness and honesty. He really was sharing his treat with me.
I hesitated in the doorway for what seemed minutes, suspended between a sudden ravenous hunger and ladylike decorum. Before I could stop it, my hand involuntarily reached for the daisy-patterned, chipped plate, my fingers closing around a square of yummy goodness. Heaven in my mouth!
It was as I eyed a second brownie that my throat began to feel funny, tight. And then the dizziness came, at which point I braced myself against the door jamb.
Looking to the man for help, I saw his kind face distort into an evil grimace.
“It’s really too bad, lady,” he said, all traces of his endearing accent gone, “ ‘cuz you shouldn’t’a ate a brownie.”
He pushed passed me, lurching for the table in my foyer. I tried to scream, to claw at his back, but he snatched my purse from its home before bounding back across the threshold.
He took off down my front path, throwing one last comment over his shoulder.
“It really was too bad.”
And the world went black.