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The crackly sound of the tv screen jumped out at me from the darkness, lighting my living room like headlights. I could already smell the nostalgia of a movie theater wafting in from my kitchen, a rainbow of salty, buttery popcorn popping like the pitter patter of rain on the beach.

-Bailey

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I am sitting in my ever-frigid back room, playing on the coarse rug with my friend. When we eat it, it feels soggy and squeaks, tasting warm, buttery and nutty.

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Once I arrive I hear the popping of the sprouting kernels, which remind me of the colorful hollow balls you find at an indoor playground. The taste is nostalgic like your favorite childhood movie, sweet, buttery and nutty. -Juli

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I reached my hand into the bowl and I felt the uneven warm buttery  popcorn. The popcorn had perfectly evenly distributed butter and a bumpy uneven exterior.

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My brother and I would binge watch all the Fast and Furious movies while eating the buttery, light popcorn. When we finished the bowl, we would fight over who got to break their teeth on the not-popped kernels.

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The crunchy, dissolving, and airy taste of the perfect off-white look of the popcorn went nicely with the warm, soft, and smooth coat of butter as the textures and flavors balanced each other out. All of the students were left wanting more after the entire bag they had brought was finished.

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The popcorn kernels in the popper sound like a BMW G82 M4 Competition with a stage one burble tune, flooring it after taking a right turn on a clear and flat road. Just to then let go of the acceleration to hear that beautiful barrage of pops coming from the exhaust pipes.

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I try to ignore the irresistible scents around me, but my sensitive nose cannot escape it. I walk faster, the bustling streets speeding by me, but a new, buttery smell hits my face. Where is it coming from? My tired legs can’t help but follow the salty cloud of deliciousness. They lead me down an alley and then another, until a small, brightly painted cart is parked in front of me.

-Olive

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Joe lay on his deathbed. The prostate cancer was too strong for his immune system. It spread out of his prostate and into his lungs. Now he has lung cancer and prostate cancer. Jeffrey walked solemnly into his dark room, and handed Joe his last meal, a bowl of golden popcorn. Joe picked up a light, airy piece, and since his teeth had all fallen out, the popcorn was just buttery enough to melt in his mouth, no teeth needed, but still the quiet crackle of a crunch. This singular piece of goodness could have been all he needed to recover. It could have saved his life. But all of this was met with a sharp pang of bitterness. His popcorn was poisoned. The bitter poison mixed in with the harsh taste of betrayal.  Jeffrey’s face twisted into a smile, and whispered, “Goodbye, Joe.”

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I start to smell the warm, salty smell wafting through the air. After, the popcorn started to fall into the bowl like a mini avalanche.

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Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. The sound of the popcorn machine churning up popcorn greeted us when we entered the house. I could already smell the warm, buttery popcorn even though it was still just kernels bouncing around in the machine and making tink-tink noises.

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From the darkening halfway you could smell the salty, rich greasy slightly burnt smell of the crackling popcorn wafting around the room .Finally after a long line I got to the front and as the popcorn poured into my cup you could see the fluffy, golden misshapen popcorn that I had been dying for.

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I was six years old, sitting on the couch, when I heard the distinctive clatter of kernels falling into the popcorn machine like the rain outside. The machine whirred to life like a jet engine, and I ran over and began to watch the popcorn machine in anticipation of what I knew was about to happen. I began to smell it, the faint burning smell of the popcorn beginning to heat up, and then suddenly a wave of buttery air surrounded me, and I heard the first pop. The sound quickly grew along with the smell, making an orchestra of pops and whirring. The popcorn began to bubble up like a pot of boiling water, and the little clouds poured into the bowl like a waterfall.

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She watched as the kernels exploded one by one into little white clouds. The popcorn jumped and danced in the machine, just like her nervous stomach.

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Popcorn Description

It sounded like a rainstick as she poured the popcorn into the popcorn maker. When the popcorn started to pop I could smell buttery, rich delicious popcorn. Then, it started to pop so much that it started to overflow with popcorn, the popcorn fell out into the bowl like a waterfall of tiny clouds.

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Little yellow movie theater clouds with butter and salt that swirl together on your tongue and squeak beneath your teeth. My feet burn as I stand in the long, winding concessions line full of tired adults with their clingy, ear crushingly loud kids all excitedly waiting for the lights of a screen to illuminate their faces as they sit back on cushy red chairs and enjoy a movie.

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The popcorn finally came spitting out, like an erupting volcano. As the vigorous humming of the popcorn machine came to a stop, I drenched the popcorn with salt and butter, and scurried upstairs to my room with this treasure of mine.

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Soon, the popcorn is a waterfall, pouring over and spilling into the bowl underneath the machine. I immerse my hand in the bundle of little white clouds and scoop out a large handful.

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The whirring sound erupts from the machine filling the room with it’s sound. A minute later the  tiny seeds start popping and it sounds like someone took a needle and went down a line of balloons popping them one at a time very quickly

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Slowly the kernels started to pop, filling the house with a comforting buttery smell. The newly-popped popcorn looked like tiny yellow clouds, springing out of the air-popper and into the bowl.

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Popcorn is the absolute heart of every movie. The crunchy, salty, buttery deliciousness of it is undeniable, and he couldn’t believe how stupid he could be to almost forget such a thing.

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I wait in line, the awkward silence as I wait and wait in the never ending line, the aroma of the creamy, nose filling scent of popcorn feels overwhelming. As the people take their little ant-like steps, I follow, the wafting scent getting more powerful.

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The kernels tickled my hand and left my fingers covered in delicious butter. I shoveled mountains of crunchy, light, yellow nuggets into my gaping mouth. The puffs popped and squeaked in my teeth as I chowed down and my mouth was taken over by salty, sweat and cheese flavors, blending and dancing on my tongue.

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When we sat down, Amanda was carrying the popcorn. The heat of the popcorn heated the smell, so it felt like a warm blanket of salt was coating the inside of my mouth and nose.

I was scarfing down all the popcorn in the bag like a wolf that gets into a chicken pen.

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I take a deep breath in and the soft, buttery smell fills my nose. It’s nostalgic, and takes me back to helping my dad make popcorn as a little kid. I smile at the memory and close my eyes.

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As I pick a piece up in my hand, it feels oily and sweaty, as if it’s just as nervous as I am. It smells savory and perfect, with just the right amount of butter. When I crunch it in my mouth, it squeaks in a horrible shrill noise, like a duck trying to sound like a sparrow.

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We come through the doors like a floodgate of sweaty teenagers, frantically searching for the rumored popcorn.

“Follow the smell,” I whisper to my friend. We follow the faint smell of salty butter until we reach the MPR. The moment we enter, the smell of greasy, smoky goodness hits our nose like a slap in the face. There, in a shining aluminum bowl, is the popcorn, glistening with grease like a beacon of sustenance. My mouth begins to water as I yearn to devour the whole bowl.

“Come eat! One scoop per person!” the teacher calls out while kids scramble to get to the front of the line.

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As the machine booted up a whirring like the rapid blades of a helicopter began, almost as if the faster the propeller spun, the more intense the heat to ignite the kernels would be. As the flames scorching the inside of the machine grew, it adopted the natural scent of the popcorn; a dry and brittle tree infused with smoke of the california wildfires, as the scent swam through my nasal passages, I reminisced of a time when I had smelt this before, from the movies I had lived threw from my childhood on the bay. It sounded like fireworks going off in the distance, like bullets of flavor shooting out of the marvelous popcorn machine, and that soon would penetrate my mouth, piercing through the nerves in my tongue. The sight of the small compact flavor bombs shooting up, and out of the machine and exploding into the air, resembled a firework consuming the entire night sky.

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The brittle yet chewy texture brought a delightful sensation to my mouth. As I masticated, I let the rich oils drip down my throat and fill me up with a pleasant feeling.

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The machine tossed out each perfect, puffy, uneven popcorn and a fragrance of burning wood was emitted from the top, where the popcorn was being fired out like a cannon. The piles of shifting, shoving puffs cascaded into the shining blue bowl on the counter, smooth and brittle. After such a long day at school, this common after school snack was a banquet to me.

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Jackson swerved his head clockwise to see what was going on. Around the corner, he heard a whirring, vacuum-like noise coming from the science lab. Cautiously, he crept to the lab to answer his questions. He was pleasantly surprised to see it was a warm, buttery, bowl of popcorn.

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When the movie started I put my hand into the large popcorn bucket and lifted up the light, fluffy and slippy popcorn and stuffed it into my mouth, as I crunched down on the airy, salty and buttery popcorn and a smile took over my face.

The second the door opened the smell of warm buttery popcorn was sent flying out, my eyes exploded with nostalgia and happiness.

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I could here the popcorn jumping around in the bowl; creating a ding every time. I could smell the wafts of buttery air floating down the stairs.

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The popcorn was light and airy and looked like a cloud. The taste was a salty and buttery masterpiece.

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Popcorn.

Airy.

Dry.

Styrafoamy.

Nothing butter can’t fix.

Melted.

Liquid.

Deliciousness.

Probably don’t want to know the ingredients.

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I follow the scent to a warmly lit room, the sweet, nutty smell of butter has doubled and I can feel my cholesterol rising. Then I see it, like a treasure chest full of golden brown coins, shiny with butter, laying freshly popped on the counter

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Pop

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I watch the popcorn come erupting out of the machine. I can already smell the salty popcorn. Finally they bring it out. Drenched in butter, the crunch of the first bite that and the slightly burnt, salty taste fills my heart with joy. Despite the uneven distribution of the butter, I still enjoy every bite.

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The yellow machine has a mountain of popcorn coming out of it, flowing like a bubbly water fountain. Once the stainless steel bowl is filled to the brim with popcorn Alys and I grab popcorn from it like neanderthals, manners forgotten in the presence of the warm buttery clouds.

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The steady stream of popcorn begins to flow out of the bucket like a waterfall of majestic puffs. Then, the butter. A rich, smooth, constant flow of this fatty liquid smothers the popcorn below.

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Soft, fluffy clouds precipitating sweet salty joy. On the one hand, that cascading butter looked like a waterfall of sweet, buttery, relief. On the other hand, it looked like a sewage drain of my money

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Suddenly, I thought I heard a switch being flipped and heat started rising from the ground. Then, the dish slowly started rotating, I couldn’t tell if I was just dizzy or if I was actually spinning as if I was on a carousel.

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As I near the cashier register, I catch a glimpse of golden, fluffy kernels dancing up and down in the glistening glass machine.

Immediately, a burst of flavors hits me like an ocean wave. As I chew, the warm, buttery, salty taste melds beautifully with the sweet, nutty essence, leaving me in awe.