There once lived a sugar cube named Widdly Scuds. He and his family lived in a small dish on table three in the land of Denny’s, where the elderly could roam free and coffee refills were endless. All was well in the land, that is, for the customers. You see, due to the rising obesity epidemic in the United States, more and more people were using real sugar to sweeten their coffee and iced tea. This meant genocide for the sugar cubes. Despite the terror taking place within franchised diners all over the country, the sugar cubes could still muster up the strength to exchange a sweet, sweet smile.
Widdly Scuds was an innocent little cube. He frequently used the phrase “golly gee” and wore a rainbow propeller hat. He was friends with a package of Equal who, like the rest of her family, was a civil rights activist, and played a big part in raising awareness on the genocide. Together, Equal and Widdly Scuds enjoyed watching the dust particles float by. They engaged in profound conversations about society, and their ever longing desire to bring down the man, whoever that is.
One sunny Tuesday, Equal and Widdly lay side by side, once again watching the dust particles swirl around in the glow of the morning sun, as they would lift and tumble whenever the restaurant door swung open. Little Widdly became overwhelmed by beauty and contentment. Widdly realized in that moment, his feelings for Equal ran far deeper than what he thought was just a light-hearted camaraderie. He shifted on his side to face Equal, and spoke to her in a voice low enough just so that he could be taken seriously, despite his adolescence.

“Equal,” he murmured, “I have to confide in you about an epiphany I’ve had just now.”

“Go on, Widdly.” Equal replied, in a dreamy yet sincere tone as her crystals shone through her thin, powder blue package.

He swallowed the lump that had developed in his throat due to sheer anxiety.
“I... I-“
Suddenly, Widdly was lifted into the sky, as fear ran through his sugary nerves, he looked into the face of a man. He knew his demise was in the hands of a twenty-two year old student wearing thick rimmed glasses with a 5 o’ clock shadow that says “I don’t care.” He looked down at Equal. As he turned back around to the flannel clad boy, the faint sound of Ra Ra Riot dwindled in Widdly’s ears through the man’s Skull Candy ear buds dangling gently next to his thin black tie. He was then tossed into a steaming cup of Folgers Classic Roast.
Widdly Scuds was no more.