Morning Coffee?

I didn’t know if my eyes were closed or opened. I tried to blink. But I don’t know if I did.

Everything is black and so quiet I have a ringing in my ears.

How did I get here and, where is here? Perhaps it’s the middle of the night and I’m dreaming, and yet I feel like I’m trapped in a box. I’m not sure if I am dreaming?

What’s the last thing I remember?

Was I drinking my morning coffee?

– ⋅ o ♥ o ⋅ –

I wake with a start as the doorbell jingles and another customer enters the coffee shop. I look over to see if it’s my husband, but it isn’t, and so I go back to enjoying my drink.

I like to sit by the window and watch the world awaken and go by. There is something so relaxing about simply sitting here with the smell of roasting beans enveloping me like a comfortable warm blanket.

Every now and then, the door bell jingles again and I look across to see if it is my husband has come to join me, but he hasn’t and the day is getting older, so I grab a lid for his coffee and exit into the street, determined to catch up with him before I have to dash off to the office.

I notice how bright the flowers are. I can smell their sweet perfume as I walk past and as I reach the end of the street, I look both ways before stepping forward.

That’s when I hear screeching brakes and the blood curdling wreckage of metal and glass coming together as unwanted partners in a poorly choreographed dance. That’s when the screaming started. Someone was screaming and screaming and it just goes on and on in a never-ending wail. It’s so loud it fills my head and I wish I could put my fingers in my ears so I don’t have to listen to it any more when it abruptly stops.

The silence is deafening and I’m left with a ringing in my ears and here I am again in this cold, dark place.

– ⋅ o ♥ o ⋅ –

Unexpectedly I sense a light and feel as though I’m floating. The hard cold thing I’m laying on starts moving towards the light and it washes over me with a weak, yet welcoming warmth. I can hear voices, muffled at first, but, as the light becomes brighter, so to the voices become clearer and I recognise my husbands beautiful rich baritone.

My eyes won’t open but I see him in my mind. He’s as handsome as ever and he’s so close I could reach out and touch him, but I don’t understand why I can’t move so I try to listen to what he’s saying. I can’t comprehend his words, his voice is not his own. He sounds like he has a cold, like he’s upset. Why is he upset? Is he upset with me? What did I do?

That hard cold thing I’m laying on is moving again and the light grows weaker and once again I’m bathed in darkness.

I feel a tear make its way towards my ear and as a door slams, like a lid dropped on a box from afar, I’m left with a ringing in my ears.

Everything is black and so quiet and I think I’m dreaming.

What’s the last thing I remember?

Was I drinking my morning coffee?

4 Comments

  1. Oh wow! That is a VERY atmospheric piece. It has a real presence to it. I am right there with you every second. Doctors say you don’t remember the seconds before an impact. The first paragraph is like you are remembering after the fact. I thought it was quite effective. Great job!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Thank you Calen,

      This was a tough assignment about ‘being put into boxes’ for the Writers Group, but I got there in the end with some careful thought and a little persistence.

      Clare

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

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