Black Coffee

Mikey approached the Starbucks counter when he heard them call his name. The smell of coffee hovered over everything, and he drank it in. At 6:15 in the morning, he needed a kick in the pants to get him going. He always did.

The girl behind the counter glanced at him from beneath black eyelashes that stuck out six inches from her face. Mikey frowned. This wasn't the same girl who took his order in the first place.

This new girl wore mascara like she was trying to imitate a panda bear. Tattoos gloved her arms and crept up onto her neck from beneath her shirt. Long black hair framed her face. One of her black fingernails tapped the countertop impatiently.

He saw the cup with his name on it and picked it up, noticing the girl smile as he did so. "Vanilla macchiato?" she asked.

"No," Mikey frowned. "It's supposed to just be coffee. Black."

"Black is my favorite color," the girl replied, to no one's surprise. "Try the vanilla macchiato."

Mikey set the cup back down, grimacing. "I'd rather be dead."

"Then I have some good news for you."

"What?"

Abruptly, the girl vaulted across the counter. She seized Mikey's throat with one hand, fingernails digging into his flesh. "Because I also put strychnine in it!" she laughed.

Mikey was too startled to react. His hands started rising, to ward her off, but the fingernails bit into him like shards of glass. He started to say something, but the moment he opened his mouth, the girl poured the drink into it.

His vision blurred. From his mouth to his stomach, everything burned. The girl kept laughing.

Damn it, Mikey thought. I shouldn't have made that deal with the devil.