Syrup Spill

My fingers are sticky with syrup. I try frantically to collect the
spilled liquid covering the floor, gathering it up into my arms. But
it always seeps away out of my grasp. I keep trying and the syrup
slowly covers my body as I wallow in the mess, scraping it up to put
it back in the bottle. It works its way up my neck and onto my face
where I taste it on my tongue. I swallow it and keep sweeping and
sweeping, trying to push the sticky mess into a pile to be collected.
I keep swallowing whatever syrup comes into my mouth and my stomach
lurches from sweet sickness. I moan, strings of syrup dripping off
my lips, but I keep my mind on my task. The syrup reaches my eyes
crawling like a creature, a snake or a lizard. I blink to get it out
but it sticks to my lids and makes smacking noises when I close them,
but I do not stop. With my eyes closed I search blindly for the
stretching puddle on the ground, pulling it in only to feel it seep
away. The bottle has an inch of liquid in it and I have twenty left to go.