I wrote this a few years ago when I was in high school. I'd never had whole almonds before this brand of trail mix. I still haven't touched whole almonds since. This is the impact they made on me.
The worse part of the day is over. For a few minutes, I have nothing to do but enjoy myself. I am responsible to no one but myself. Neither man nor woman holds sway over me in this time. It is the time in the afternoon of comics and snacks.
I sit in my chair, reading the comics again. Dilbert is doing something funny. There's a funny image in F-Minus. Friendly sunlight dances on the table, and my cup full of trail mix.
Ah, trail mix. So wonderful, so delicious, so tasty, so enjoyable. I pour a bit into my hand and pop it into my mouth. In an instant, cashew, peanut, M&M, and raisin melt together under the prodding of my teeth. The wholesome sweetness of the raisin melds with the chocolate, and then the two of them together blend with the cashews and peanuts. Texture compliments flavor, sweet and salty turn into a mass of flavor and sheer delight.
I swallow, and go back to the comics. Still in this happy time, I get another handful of trail mix. I see not the seed of my destruction hidden among the other ingredients. Like an ignorant fool, I pop the mix into my mouth. Nuts and sweets mix together just like before, until I hit something… else.
Almond. The nut is hard. My teeth squeak against it's meat and get ever-so-slightly caught in it, as though the almond wishes to keep my jaw locked against it's mass forever. I pull my molars free, but then it spreads across my mouth. Almonds are not tasty, they are bitter. Sweet and salty is beaten into submission by this flavor. All is conquered by almond, nothing escapes.
There's only one way to get rid of it: Swallow it. I do, and feel the almond move down my throat. But my mouth is still reeling from the attack. I work my tongue, trying to get the almond taste off of it. The taste hides underneath my tongue, and fragments of the offender hide in between my teeth. Karma has caught me, and I despair. The sun seems less bright, the newspaper faded, my dog outside seems to feel my trouble. The cat inside sits down, as though she can smell that horrible nut that is now engulfed in digestive acids within my belly.
I continue to eat the trail mix, but my innocence has been stripped from me. I must search the innocents for the guilty, naïveté has been lost. Something of youth and joy has been stripped from this increasingly gray world. Like some kind of almighty, I must sift through my subjects, passing harsh judgment upon them.
I once more enjoy handfuls of trail mix, but the moment is lost, the world found me once more.