At one point there were fifty cookies,

Now, at the end of the week, there is only one.

I stand at one end of the kitchen, she stands at the other.

The jar is on the table,

We make eye contact, and then gaze at the jar.

Both of us break into a sprint toward the table,

Slipping and sliding around as we run.

At last, after what seems like running a mile,

We simultaneously arrive at the table.

Slamming into it, the jar flies up, soaring through the air.

SMASH! The jar hits the floor and breaks into a million pieces, scattering across the kitchen floor, while the cookie lands a few feet away.

Both of us have fallen and are crawling ferociously toward the cookie, we avoid the glass covering the floor.

The cookie driving us to go on, to continue crawling, to beat one another, and to claim the glorious, scrumptious, circle of delight.

Reaching for the cookie, she snatches it out of my hand.

She looks at me, with an evil smile, and moves the cookie toward her mouth.

The next second, the cookie is gone.