When The Ship Has Sailed [Christian and Etra]
Mar 16, 2015 21:37:05 GMT -5
Post by Will on Mar 16, 2015 21:37:05 GMT -5
I sit in the café holding my cup of coffee. This is probably the first time I've ever even had enough money to buy anything other than the weekly groceries. It's so incredible. To be completely honest, I should have put this money into the family funds, we're barely making it. But the luxury of buying something for pure pleasure was too hard to resist. How could one not find themselves timidly pushing their way through the glass doors. Carefully stepping across the floor up to the counter, where the glowing and shimmering and racket of all the different machines is enough to captivate even the most focused person's attention. How could one not order coffee? It's a luxury. And how can you resist a luxury. Especially when you've never had one? I know how. This coffee is wretched. I want to vomit it up and then throw it in the courier's face. How dare she cheat me out of my money. My hard earned money. The money I used to try to relax. I guess this is what I get for going behind my family's back. For trying to embellish and leaving them out of it. Suddenly this doesn't feel like such a luxury. It feels like a responsibility. The responsibility that comes with money is much too hard to handle. It comes with too much pressure. Is it possible that having no money is actually easier than having money? No. No, that's not possible. Only a poor person like myself would think that. Anybody who is rich enjoys every second of being rich. I'm sure of it. What's not to like. You get to come here whenever you want, buy a hot beverage, and then choke down the oil they poured into your cup while you look out this large glass window at the town center. Maybe they have the window here so you can look at all the people who can't afford to walk in here. Maybe this window is the place where rich people point out poor people and then chuckle as they drink their coffee. I put my head in my hands and stare out the window at the busy district square. I watch as mothers bring their children from shop to shop, I watch as shopkeepers lay out new items which are taking the place of old ones that they have just sold, I watch as the poorest of the district crawl around begging for money or discreetly checking trash cans for food. Some lucky peasants find money that was dropped. I love when that happens. You never truly appreciate unexpected additions to your income until you barely have one. I look back down at my coffee. Do I really want to finish this? It's absolutely horrid. But I suppose if I went through all of this trouble to get it, I might as well not waste it. After all, the worst that could happen is I vomit it all up. Which I'm suspecting might actually taste better than this. I take solace in its warmth, though. After emerging from winter, anything warm feels like a God-sent. I put the cup to my lips and take another sip. My lips purse and my face scrunches up as I force the bile down my throat. I quickly slam the cup back down on the table. There has to be a reason why this is a popular drink. Maybe they just gave me bad coffee. But there has to be something to make it taste better. I turn my head, trying to be discreet about searching for something that might sweeten my coffee. As my eyes dart around the room, quickly scanning each individual feature for something, anything that will help with the taste, I make eye contact. I make eye contact with a boy. I immediately turn my head back around and stare holes through my coffee cup. How embarrassing. I wonder what he could have possibly thought I was doing. But I don't have too long to ponder that because before I know it, he's at my table. |
credit to will |
MATTIO
