The Bottom Drawer

The bottom drawer at my desk haunts me. I say my desk, because while my bum is in the chair it mine, otherwise it's just the reference desk, but for a few brief hours, it's mine. It is a normal desk, metal, industrial, solid. Nothing scary, or ominous about it. But it haunts me. At least the bottom drawer does. See, I share my desk with others, a privilege which they pay dearly for. How do they pay this tribute, you ask? Candy. Sweet, sweet candy. They keep this tribute in the bottom drawer. I must simply open the drawer and I smell the sweet smell of chocolate, it's really almost overwhelming. How does this haunt me? Because the tribute is never ending, it's like a black-hole of yummy goodness. If I didn't stop myself, then I would eat it all. Every last bit. So here I sit, hearing it call softly to me, "Eat me! Eat me!" The only way to silence this quiet, begging to be eaten, is to eat it. But here I sit, ignoring the voices as they call to me, haunting me.