By Ember
The mug sat full of its hot, fresh, pure water, patiently awaiting some pleasant mix-in to improve its drinkability. The spoon came over, a strange brown crumble filling it, heaping, dumping the acrid fruity dust into the mug. The powder floated for a moment, seeming to resist the water's advances to absorb it, but eventually the warmth of the water broke down the unpleasant powder, which now swirled lazily in the mug, being thrown every which way by the slow convection currents in the water.
The spoon returned to the small plastic container, dipping in, coming up with another scoop of the horrific material, bringing it, too to the mug, and offering it to the water. This scoop of powder resisted more, seeming to use the other material to hold itself from the grasp of the water. The spoon seemed to sense this, and plunged into the depths of the water, swirling it carefully, pulling the remaining dust down into a whirlpool of blackened water.
With the water now containing the entire mass of the brown dust, it had earned a new title, one that many other beverages only wished they could earn the rank of, the water had earned the prestigious title of coffee. Despite earning this honorable title, this mug of coffee seemed to have something unusually strange about it. Instead of a pleasant, soft, fruity aroma emanating from a warm, dark amber surface, it produced a rather unpleasant stench, paired with the color of fresh-laid tar. The atrocious, sharp stench filled the space around the mug, seeming to even make the air heavy and sick.
Despite the severity of these sins of this so-called mug of "coffee," the most unholy offense was not in the unpleasant coloration or disturbingly horrid smell, no; this mug of death's worst crime against its fairer cousins, the lattes, sibling, the Americano, and parents, the Drip Brews, was its assaultation of one's palette upon attempts to take a sip. Upon bringing the warm mug to one's lips, they could feel the stench of the liquid seep into their skin, as if it were making an attempt to escape its bind to the water that it had been engulfed by, the midnight black liquid showing no signs of letting any light out of its black hole of happiness. It held but one surprise for those foolish enough to allow its cursed existence to pass into their mouth.
Upon a single drop of this noxious manifestation of all that is unholy finding its way to one's tongue, they are instantly presented with the worst flavor to exist in this world; the taste of the ash of rotting flesh fills their mouth, causing their mouth to water, desperately trying to flush the evil toxin that calls itself coffee from their mouth. Unbeknownst to the mouth, this effort is entirely futile, for even one drop of this fluid is enough to permeate a block of lead and ruin any white shirt forever. The sensation of the burnt powder soaking into the tongue gets stronger and stronger with each and every second, climbing deeper and deeper into the mouth, trying to force itself down into the throat, seeking vengeance upon the damned being that mixed the horror for causing such a crime against nature to exist.
The being gets a brilliant idea to combat the misery caused by said fluid; mixing in a sweetener. The hand reaches for a special bottle, a pleasant sweetener with the fresh, refreshing crisp flavor of hazelnut, as well as just the right level of sweetness to compliment any drip brew to perfection. The spoon readies itself for the sweet ambrosia, filling slowly as it is gently poured by the poor being that made the drink. The spoon dunks the clear, sweet syrup into the depths of the drink, and surfaces for another. Surely two would be enough to mask the sadistic torture of the coffee!
The spoon slowly stirs the coffee around, the smell gaining a slight layer of pleasant nutty comfort, that instantly is erased by the onslaught of the eye-watering, murderous stench of the coffee itself, causing the brain to enter a state of panic, not knowing wether or not to be pleased, petrified, or pissed at the concoction. The being smirks, believing they have defeated the beast, and brings the mug back to their mouth, and taking a slow, careful sip. The being immediately coughs, hard, their body deciding that the blend of ambrosia and ashen coffee became some form of poison, sending signals to the entire nervous system to void the mouth of every trace of the bitter, sugary, fruity, ashy, nutty sludge as quick as possible, but to no avail. The flavor found its way to the back of the throat and slowly crawled its way to the stomach, leaving a long trail of bitter destruction behind in its path of devastation.