Reqiuem for a Brownie

Hello,

I am a brownie.  This is my story.

I began as a simple mixture of flour, sugar, cocoa, chocolate chunks, and everything else that goes into boxed brownie mix.  I was made with tender loving care by a fantastic cook (as evidenced by the use of boxed brownie mix) for a dear friend who would soon be moving to New York.  That friend adored my kind.  He had had many like me before, and never failed to drool, slobber and sing the hallelujah chorus whenever he had the opportunity to taste of the decadent, gooey chocolate that me and my kind were made of.

(Editor's note: please ignore the dangling participle.  Brownies never had that great of grammar.)

On the day before my maker's friend was to leave, I was mixed with water, oil and eggs, and stirred with a whisk.  Then came the baking.  Then came the frosting.  And no, it was not frosting from a tub.  My maker was a much better cook than that!  She made the frosting all by herself.  With great care, labor, sweat and blood, she dumped a bag of milk chocolate chips on top of me and let my heat melt them into spreadable liquid chocolate, then swiped it with a knife a couple of times.

Difficult, no?

And when that layer of chocolate had cooled, she sprinkled colorful, candy-coated mini-chocochips to add a bit of pizazz, and cut me into single servings.

I was done.

I was perfect.

I was beautiful.

My maker's nieces (and brother... and dad... and mom... and roommates) loved me!  She was quite protective of me - I had been made for a friend.  But then, her friend didn't really need a WHOLE tray of brownies, so everybody else got a taste.

I was brought home and laid on a table, a bit of plastic wrap placed over me to keep me fresh until she could stop by work in the morning and leave me on her friend's desk.

Darkness came.  It was still dark at 5:30 a.m. when my maker picked me up.  She stumbled a little - I wondered how little sleep she had gotten.  As she gathered her things, struggled to open the door with such full hands, and walked out the door, I was amazed by the scent of the morning.  How fresh!  How beautiful!  I didn't want to go back in her car.

Her car came into sight, and I was placed on its roof as she unlocked the door.  I was glad.  A few more seconds of that beautiful morning, just before sunrise, was just what I wanted.  The door closed, and the car began to rumble beneath me.  In another second, it began to move.

This was fun!  I was riding on the roof of the car!

Then she turned a corner.

WHEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!  I'm flying!!!!!  Freedom!!!!  WOOOOO--- What's that black thing coming at--

ROAD: Mmmmm... brownies.