This is a piece that I have posted before, but I've changed it a little bit.
I can see you sitting at the kitchen table, right in front of me. You are within my reach so I stretch my hand out to touch you one last time, but my arm is not long enough and my fingers just miss. I call your name, but you don’t answer, I don’t understand: are you ignoring me? What did I do to upset you? You get up and walk across the room to get a fresh cup of coffee. I tell you to relax and I will get it for you, but you pay me no attention. You go to the counter, pour your coffee into the same mug you use every day, two sugars, lots of milk, then stir-same as always. You return to your seat at the table, the only one you ever sat in to drink your coffee. You tap your fingers on the table and hum to yourself. You look up; scratch your head, and then you light up a cigarette. The smoke quickly fills the room. Suddenly, I am in my room. How did I get here? I run down the stairs and into the kitchen, but the coffee pot is gone, and the smells of cigarettes are far in the distance, just like you, Poppy.
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2 comments:
What a beautiful piece. I loved it. My only advice would be to be careful with your transitions so they don't seen too abrupt. I loved this piece so much; great job!
Seems odd enough that this person's name is "Poppy" and that incidentally, after the smoke filled the air, the narrator ended up somewhere upstairs without no memory of how he/she got there. I'm considering this wasn't an average cigarette having peculiar properties consistent with this "Poppy" person.
In a different view, this seems like the familiar style of snapshot moments with no true ending or beginning, giving just an intersection point in just about infinitely many pathways. What is it that you want to accomplish with this (by giving out this story in this format)? Uncertainty? Freedom of thought? Mysteriousness?
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