Written by Li Seien
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Thursday, 26 May 2005

Wednesday, 25 May
Fuming. I have no money in the world right now, but, searching through my bag, I was blessed with two fifty pence pieces. Not believing my luck, I rushed to the canteen and put one on my card, and bought a cup of soup, (35 pence, 15 left over). Having guzzled that straight down (The croutons were fabulous!) I decided upon treating myself with the remaining 50p. Sinful, I know, but the temptation had already nuzzled itself inside my still gurgling belly and was tugging at my taste buds, so I wandered over to the vending machine and chose my Mars Bar (52) and popped in my pennies. Some weird old guy on the machine next to me was making strange (I guessed friendly?!?) noises (gurgling, tutting, the usual weird old guy noises...) and distracted me, so that 1) I never saw the cost of said Mars Bar, and, 2), even more disheartening, never saw the wheels turn to release it. I fumbled and fumbled for the elusive sweet, and, dumfounded, reached in for my change that I had heard drop only seconds before, pulling out a shiny silver tenpence. Had I only fed the hungry monster of a machine meagre pennies? Or was something more sinister afoot, something far more horrific to even contemplate comprehending? I doubt it, but still... To this very moment, I don't know whether I simply lost that 50p and popped in the 10, or whether the Mars Bar only cost 40p, ate my money, and left me hungry. Sorry, I feel a lot better getting that off my chest now anyway, that was my last 50p in the world until Friday!!!
Love ya!

Thursday 26 May
It must have known how mad I was. An on-going scandal, ripping out the heart of thisoffice, my soul and love of life; redemption. It had had its game. And my, oh my, what a game. Leaving me bitter and hungry, a single choccy-bar stained tear on my emaciated cheeks, I left work yesterday, drained and lonely. Arriving back at this hall of horrors today, I was ready to raise my white flag. That's it. I'm over. You've had your fun with me, I said, the vending machine whirring and ticking, mocking me as I trumped past. I surrender. Still, the thought of that hedonistic taste, the swirling of caramel, colliding with nougat, mingling with chocolate, all mixing together like two ravishing, long lost lovers, reuniting on my tongue was enough to make me want to piddle in my seat. Forget it, I thought, if you go back, it'll know it's won. But temptation will overcome pride, and I, if not begrudgingly, made my way to that machine, the spawn of Satan itself, and smushed the flesh of my finger tip to its sticky glass. 52. Tick, tick, whirr. It seemed like it was gurgling with pleasue, relishing the thought of another round, another win. Two-nil. My girlish fingers shaking, I inserted yet another 50p, eyes clamped shut to deny me the pure vision of evil incarnate, tripping and skipping into my life. Tick, whirr. Tick, whirr. Whirr. Plink. Ah yes, of course. Spewing my change into its filthy receptacle, the unwanted love child of the working girl and the monster machine. It had used me again, the ten pence shining at the bottom, lovingly. I know I can't replace your 50, but I'm just as shiny, it seemed to be whispering. It was right, of course. Although not as appealing as the seven sides of the fools' gold, it still had its value, albeit worth as much as a whore's soul, I lent to retrieve it. My fingers grasped the smooth, cool coin, but, what joy! the whirring had stopped! A second, two, three, and yes! Clunk! Not wanting to believe for fears of having my hopes dashed to the ground, my hungry eyes shot to the floor of the machine. There it sat, the crisp looking wrapper of the taste sensation, a pleasure I for one certainly could not measure, sat my bar. My sweet, sweet Mars-Bar. Oh triumph! Oh joy! For I had over come the beast, and had fed my starving temptation. Quick as Flash (Ultra)...(no wait, that's Daz...OK, quick as Daz Ultra..), I grabbed its nougat-y goodness, my quivering hands fumbling over its shiny packaging like some nervous school girl, caught up in the throes of passion urging her to disobey. And then I remembered. The change. In the midst of my excitement, I had forgotten to collect. My grubby hands reaching in, I grabbed the ten pence. But they had brushed enticingly against..What's this? 20p! 50p! An extra seventy pence for my troubles! The machine buzzed more quietly now, and, was I mistaken? seemed to vibrate as if apologetic...buuuuuzzzzzz....It seemed to be saying "I'm sorry...Forgive me..."
I punched it right in the change hole.
B*stard.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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