A Buttery Splat

The words of Madame Mystic echo in my head:

My dear, you must go to Deena's 28 Hour Diner on this upcoming Wednesday evening. I see it in your palm that something... important is going to happen. Go, my dear, and feel the power of the Evil Eye.

I take three breaths, lift my gloved-covered hand, and BLAT! Suddenly my feet are swept from under me, and I hit the germ-invested sidewalk with a smack. Through bleary eyes, I am able to make out the silver-green scales of a tail. My vision goes in and out of focus as I feel smooth arms lift me off the ground. I hear the door whoosh open, the smell of buttery mashed-potatoes and intoxicatingly sweet strawberry-banana pie fills my nose, and I am placed gently on a smooth, red booth.

My vision clears. I feel woozy. In front of me is a plate of steaming, watery mashed potatoes, oozing with butter.

"It's on the house, sugar!" yells a plump, middle-aged man from the kitchen. "That damn merman knocked you down, so you need to get some energy back in ya!"

I look down at the plate of potatoes, and I noticed the Evil Eye emblem is written on the plate. My heart jumps, and I suddenly remember Madame Mystic's prophecy. I grab my fork from inside my purse, unwrap the protective plastic, submerge it into the mashed potatoes, and take a bite.

The potatoes disperse in my mouth, making me gag on the deathly amount of butter that soaks my esophagus. I force myself to swallow, feeling the thick goo slide slowly down. I gasp for air, and call out for some water. A glass is shoved to my table, and I throw back as much water as possible, letting the cool liquid wash away the residue of the potatoes.

I close my eyes and take another forkful. Phoebe, keep eating. The plate has the Evil Eye. Just three bites. I open my eyes and look at the potatoes dribbling onto my plate from my fork. I cringe as I shove the second bite into my mouth. Before I swallow, I scoop another forkful and shove that in, too. I try and swallow. Half the potatoes go down, I choke, and buttery, thick potato mush comes shooting out my mouth, hitting the back of the man in front of me.

He whips around, and his tail whips, too. There's a flash of silver-green as his tail swats my face, and then blackness.