Peanut Butter Cookies

Summary

Two sisters unintentionally consume fentanyl-laced peanut butter cookies, leading to a harrowing experience and a realization of the dangers posed by a drug dealer known to them.

Abstract

In a chilling narrative, the story unfolds with one sister baking peanut butter cookies late at night, anticipating a moment of tranquility before her overworked sister returns from her job at a facility. The exhaustion of the working sister is likened to the effects of intoxication, and her fatigue is palpable as she arrives home. The next morning, the sisters unwittingly consume the cookies laced with weed and fentanyl, leading to a severe adverse reaction that leaves them both incapacitated. The incident reveals the presence of a dangerous drug dealer in their lives, who is suspected of attempting to harm the working sister. The story concludes with the sisters surviving the ordeal, a ban on further cookie consumption, and a warning to the dealer that he is no longer welcome.

Opinions

The narrative suggests a critical view of the long working hours and the toll it takes on the sister working at the facility.
There is an implied disapproval of the drug dealer's actions, particularly the danger he introduces into the sisters' lives by lacing the weed with fentanyl.
The story conveys a sense of vulnerability and the unexpected ways in which drug use can affect innocent lives.
The author seems to emphasize the resilience of the sisters, highlighting their survival and the protective measures taken after the incident.
There is a subtle hint of irony in the use of peanut butter cookies, traditionally a comforting and innocent treat, as the vehicle for such a harmful substance.

Peanut Butter Cookies

She’s making peanut butter cookies in the night time, criss-cross on the top with a fork, put them in the oven.

Peanut butter cookies close to midnight, last bit of peace before her sister comes home from work at the facility, eight, twelve, sixteen hour days bleed into nights and it’s always cold here, and the ground is always white. Peanut butter cookies in the night, save the rest of the dough for another time, sun instead of moonlight.

Sister stumbles through the door, never touched a drink, never smoked in her life but exhaustion is intoxicating. Two pound boots by the doorframe. About to fall asleep hearing children’s voices yelling her name.

Morning comes and sister’s up first, normal Saturday, work in the afternoon, always scheduled on the Sabbath day, and she opens up the refrigerator door and sees peanut butter cookies, still tired, craving something sweet, so she takes one, first thing that she eats.

Little one rubs her eyes, knowing that her older sister’s up already, takes a minute waiting for her blurry vision to steady, walks into the kitchen not ready for what’s about to happen, what’s about to happen, what’s about to happen.

Sister never touched a drink, never smoked in her life but there’s weed hidden in the cookies, she already took a bite, it’s a little too late but she shares the information with her sister anyway. Then she eats one too, it’s the morning on a Saturday, something that she doesn’t know until it’s too late.

She’s the first on the ground, spasms running through her, doesn’t see but she knows that in a minute it’ll hit her sister too, both feeling like they might die. Peanut butter cookies aren’t supposed to make you cry. Sister’s still got work in a couple hours. Wants to get up off the floor but every ounce of power that was in her limbs is gone now. Neither one of them can get up off the ground.

God’s grace brings the two of them to Sunday morning, older sister’s off to work, mom is in the house sleeping, plenty more peanut butter cookies that nobody’s touching.

Sister stumbles through the door shy of seventeen hours later, too many shifts this week but that’s the cost of paper. “It was fentanyl,” she says, “your man must have laced it.” Somebody at work said he was trying to erase her. Never hit her but that never meant there wasn’t danger. Now her sister’s saying that unless he’s looking for a permanent good night, he can’t come over. A dealer from the sticks, she says he’s hurt by his father. Lacing weed somewhere that you can see the stars at night, so full of anger that he’s trying to kill somebody’s daughter.

Somehow, she survived. Somehow, she’s still alive. No more peanut butter cookies in the night time.