Dastrix Slogan
Bluelighter
Mary-Beth sat alone in the middle of the large oak table. A large dark polished heirloom, polished to a mirror finish. Often as she sat at this very spot she would find herself thinking that it was a still dark lake, the kind that you could dive into and would swallow you up into its depths forever, without even a so much as ripple on the surface. It was here that Mary-Beth had her afternoon tea.
The delicate white china cup moved slowly from her thin lips back to the saucer in fine choreographed precision, as if as much care was put into the act of drinking the tea, as was put into the fine red flower patterns that lined the edges of both the cup and the saucer. Underneath the saucer lay a small cloth serviette. White with green binding sown around it and a small yellow flower delicately embroidered into the corner, tiny holes had been neatly cut out of the arcs that each yellow petal made.
It was always so dark in this corner, but electricity was expensive and Mary-Beth knew this all too well, so come rain or fine she would sit at the same place and have her afternoon tea, sometimes sipping it in near darkness. The same time each day.
As she raised the cup once again to her lips she watched the rich brown fluid flow towards her mouth leaving behind its strange scatter pattern of tealeaves and wet crystalline sugar. At one time in her life Mary-Beth had learned to read the dark smudgy images that were left over in a cup of tea. Learned to read, understand and advise. But that was a long time ago and those things were ungodly now, a short leap off a tall steeple to darker ways.
The delicate china cup had almost completed its cycle back to the saucer when something tucked away in the far rooms of Mary-Beth's mind awoke. Something wrapped in blankets and brown paper, and put away for better days stirred. She had realised what the pattern meant. Before the answer even had time to unwrap itself and escape from its dusty neglected prison, Mary-Beth dropped the cup. Looking down she watched in slow motion as the small china cup fell, hit the saucer and turned on its side, the almost-too-small handle coming to rest at the edge of the saucer. The anxiety rushed up her legs. A thousand cold needle tips testing every nerve end. The remaining tea had poured out of the cup and had filled the saucer, curved to the point of overflowing. A thick brown circle of panic waiting to spill over the edge.
"Awful stain"
The tea would have to go before she could move the cup or the saucer. Mary-Beth slowly lowered her head towards the table, as she did she could see the surface of the tea in the saucer shudder in unison with each feverish breath. She dare not spill a drop. She cautiously moved her lips towards the saucer and had to bend her head slightly to the left so that her nose didn't bump the almost-too-small handle of the fallen tea cup. Her breathing became more erratic the closer she tried to get, and at the point where her lips almost touched the edge of the red-rimmed saucer, each short sharp breath caused ripples on the surface of the tea. As if it was skin, sun browned loose skin that someone pushed back with their finger just to watch it curl up then sink back on its bones. Her lips found the edge and quickly sucked in the tea down to a thin, manageable golden brown circle. She swallowed, and sighed.
"When will you learn Mary-Beth?"
Slowly she stood up, taking care to move back the matching oak chair with its faded green velvet cushion so that it wouldn't fall backwards and scratch the corner of the table, and carefully carried the offending cup and saucer ensemble to the kitchen. By this time all things old and musty were packed back away in that corner of her mind again, but words came to her tongue and she found herself speaking, but not too loudly "Not this time, this time, I learned". She felt that smile come to her face. Half-hearted, forced. Weak. Mary-Beth turned to face the long rectangular mirror that hung in the hallway. The mirror added depth to the surrounding rooms. She wanted to see what she looked like with a smile on her face again.
But her smile faded as quickly as the tea on the saucer would in hot soapy water. The pale scared woman in the mirror looked back at her, her bruised black, bloodshot eye now clearly visible in the last remaining light. "Not this time" the woman in the mirror mouthed slowly to her. But even her frail, frightened doppelganger, did not seem convinced.
And once again the light went away, as it did every day, and every other day, for Mary-Beth.
The delicate white china cup moved slowly from her thin lips back to the saucer in fine choreographed precision, as if as much care was put into the act of drinking the tea, as was put into the fine red flower patterns that lined the edges of both the cup and the saucer. Underneath the saucer lay a small cloth serviette. White with green binding sown around it and a small yellow flower delicately embroidered into the corner, tiny holes had been neatly cut out of the arcs that each yellow petal made.
It was always so dark in this corner, but electricity was expensive and Mary-Beth knew this all too well, so come rain or fine she would sit at the same place and have her afternoon tea, sometimes sipping it in near darkness. The same time each day.
As she raised the cup once again to her lips she watched the rich brown fluid flow towards her mouth leaving behind its strange scatter pattern of tealeaves and wet crystalline sugar. At one time in her life Mary-Beth had learned to read the dark smudgy images that were left over in a cup of tea. Learned to read, understand and advise. But that was a long time ago and those things were ungodly now, a short leap off a tall steeple to darker ways.
The delicate china cup had almost completed its cycle back to the saucer when something tucked away in the far rooms of Mary-Beth's mind awoke. Something wrapped in blankets and brown paper, and put away for better days stirred. She had realised what the pattern meant. Before the answer even had time to unwrap itself and escape from its dusty neglected prison, Mary-Beth dropped the cup. Looking down she watched in slow motion as the small china cup fell, hit the saucer and turned on its side, the almost-too-small handle coming to rest at the edge of the saucer. The anxiety rushed up her legs. A thousand cold needle tips testing every nerve end. The remaining tea had poured out of the cup and had filled the saucer, curved to the point of overflowing. A thick brown circle of panic waiting to spill over the edge.
"Awful stain"
The tea would have to go before she could move the cup or the saucer. Mary-Beth slowly lowered her head towards the table, as she did she could see the surface of the tea in the saucer shudder in unison with each feverish breath. She dare not spill a drop. She cautiously moved her lips towards the saucer and had to bend her head slightly to the left so that her nose didn't bump the almost-too-small handle of the fallen tea cup. Her breathing became more erratic the closer she tried to get, and at the point where her lips almost touched the edge of the red-rimmed saucer, each short sharp breath caused ripples on the surface of the tea. As if it was skin, sun browned loose skin that someone pushed back with their finger just to watch it curl up then sink back on its bones. Her lips found the edge and quickly sucked in the tea down to a thin, manageable golden brown circle. She swallowed, and sighed.
"When will you learn Mary-Beth?"
Slowly she stood up, taking care to move back the matching oak chair with its faded green velvet cushion so that it wouldn't fall backwards and scratch the corner of the table, and carefully carried the offending cup and saucer ensemble to the kitchen. By this time all things old and musty were packed back away in that corner of her mind again, but words came to her tongue and she found herself speaking, but not too loudly "Not this time, this time, I learned". She felt that smile come to her face. Half-hearted, forced. Weak. Mary-Beth turned to face the long rectangular mirror that hung in the hallway. The mirror added depth to the surrounding rooms. She wanted to see what she looked like with a smile on her face again.
But her smile faded as quickly as the tea on the saucer would in hot soapy water. The pale scared woman in the mirror looked back at her, her bruised black, bloodshot eye now clearly visible in the last remaining light. "Not this time" the woman in the mirror mouthed slowly to her. But even her frail, frightened doppelganger, did not seem convinced.
And once again the light went away, as it did every day, and every other day, for Mary-Beth.
i also like the way you are good at writting short stories and prose as good as u are when you write poetry