Holy Yogurt

"Ten!" a nearby voice shouted.

It was thick. It was pink. It was lumpy. But he could almost see the bottom.

"Nine!"

His heart began to race, he was so close.

"Eight!"

He scooped the last spoonful of goop from the seemingly bottomless pit of strawberry yogurt.

"Seven!"

He hated strawberry yogurt. It reminded him of an unfortunate tricycle accident that landed him, at three-years-old, in the hospital.

"Six!"

The nurse gave him a strawberry sucker to ease the pain or possibly to distract him, he wasn't sure. Either way, the smell or even thought of the terrible fruit haunted him to this day.

"Five!"

He held the spoon to his mouth. What a terrible fate. He was just trying to impress a girl.

"Four!"

It had to be strawberry, didn't it?

"Three!"

He took a deep breath.

"Two!"

He closed his eyes and shoved the spoon into his mouth.

"One! Stop! Everyone stop!"

He needed a trash can, but he lacked the strength to make the five foot journey.

He waited as they counted and inspected the contestants' cups. He could see his seven cups were neck and neck with another contestant's pile.

"It's a tie!"

He felt like collapsing.