writing exercise, perfectly normal & mediocre
Morning coffee swapped for morning tea. I blinked.
First, it didn’t even register much. Blistering hot liquid was just the next best blistering hot liquid, the aftertaste made me do a double take.
I couldn’t have foreseen that turn of events. Really. One sip perfectly fine dark roasted wakey-wakey, and the next mouthfull it was peppermint tea. This was less than ideal. I needed my coffee. I wanted my coffee. The people around me needed me to have that morning coffee.
Well, I knew my kitchen was -let’s say- quirky, but it never denied me coffee before. Maybe it was the porcelain cup that kept changing things up. Who said the content was to remain the same. I was sure the cup did its best.
Because doing one’s best was always hard, I gave it the benefit of the doubt.
This time, I paid attention. The next sip was sage tea. Hmmm. Either my cup was learning new tricks, or something else was afoot. I put it back onto the kitchen counter and observed it. The liquid was tea alright. My gaze took in the rest of the kitchen counter and the fuzzy thing hiding behind the cup… It alerted me to the presence of something supernatural. I couldn’t look at it properly. My eyes kept sliding off of it, so I used my hands to see, to pinch, then pounce on it as a hungry mountain lion descended on an elderly corgi doing its business.
I hit empty air.
“Give me my coffee back!” No reaction came. “Is this some misguided attempt to nudge me towards health?” I growled into the still kitchen. Snickering came from somewhere behind my back. Great! “Listen here, you little shit! I like having coffee coursing through my veins. And believe me, you like that too!”
As if to test the waters, I took another sip without looking. Chicken soup. Sigh. “Really? Do we need to do this the whole cup long?”
The snickering came back to taunt me. I pondered throwing out the liquid and the cup with it, but I was curious. What could it come up with next?
Sip. Green Tea.
Sip. Seawater. Huh…
What was that?
So rotten, so slimy, so disgusting. Oh no, this was spoiled egg whites. That was quite enough. “Stupid!” I threw my mug into the sink. The aftertaste in my mouth was horrid. I needed to brush my teeth anyway. The fuzzy thing from behind my cup moved into the sink too. It made a bubble of iridescent space around the porcelain. It moved slightly, quivered, and changed shape. From an amorphous-looking bubble, it uncurled to the shaper of a-it almost looked like a huge centipede. Okay. This was new.
There have never been supernatural or interdimensional pests in this house. I instantly knew what it went after. It needed protein and, somehow, my sense of taste… I stepped back and nodded. The insect consumed the clear goo from the cup. It or she was hungry, and it needed a safe place for her babies. Sigh.
“Listen,” I told the weird centipede. “The kitchen is a most inconvenient place for you to stay. I will give you daily an egg, or wings, if you and your eggs find a place outside, in the garden.” The shimmering insect shape straightened to face me. It flailed its appendages in ambiguous distrust. “This means you can stay, but not here,” I swore I could hear soft clicking. “I’ll let you finish that and search for a bucket for you.” A tentacle swayed. It meant something similar to a thank you and a go away simultaneously. Yes. Rude. I guessed centipede manners were different from human manners.