The Teacup (Prose)
PostPosted: Thu Jul 03, 2008 2:08 pm
-The Teacup-
It was mid-afternoon and the sun had just started to peak through the leaves of the tall oaks. The trees cast their long shadows from the back whitewash fence, across the rose garden and through the glass of the kitchen window. Across the counter the shadows stretched, then fell to the floor and rose again onto a cherry stained dining table. A soft light shone through the maze of branches and landed on a single teacup. The teacup sat unattended. It had been turned over on its side and a tiny stream of brown liquid flowed onto the dining table. The stream ended in a small round stagnate puddle of tea that was no bigger than a quarter. Leftover grains of sugar clung to the bottom of the teacup as a swirl of creamer lay motionless in the pool of leftover tea. Next to the teacup a single saucer sat with a half eaten teacake on an unsoiled cloth napkin. The depiction on the teacup and the saucer was a rare oriental pattern that showed the legend of the two lovers in the willow garden. The scene was of a traditional Chinese pagoda, followed by a small bridge with a single man, and then two large birds flying away from the man towards the sun. It was done in soft ink, dark blue on a milky white background. Beside the cup a woman’s hand sat softly on the table. It was an old hand, covered in wrinkles, with a silver wedding band on the ring finger. Her fingernails were slightly yellow and brittle from old age, but they were kept short and had never felt the cover of nail polish. Silently, the hand sat motionless on the table. The only sound in the kitchen was the persistent ticking of the wall clock. It was one of those black smiling cat clocks with the eyes and tail that move back and forth to the tune of the seconds. On the face of the clock the hour hand had just barely snuck past the four, while the minute hand was almost covering the one. It was an hour past teatime.
It was mid-afternoon and the sun had just started to peak through the leaves of the tall oaks. The trees cast their long shadows from the back whitewash fence, across the rose garden and through the glass of the kitchen window. Across the counter the shadows stretched, then fell to the floor and rose again onto a cherry stained dining table. A soft light shone through the maze of branches and landed on a single teacup. The teacup sat unattended. It had been turned over on its side and a tiny stream of brown liquid flowed onto the dining table. The stream ended in a small round stagnate puddle of tea that was no bigger than a quarter. Leftover grains of sugar clung to the bottom of the teacup as a swirl of creamer lay motionless in the pool of leftover tea. Next to the teacup a single saucer sat with a half eaten teacake on an unsoiled cloth napkin. The depiction on the teacup and the saucer was a rare oriental pattern that showed the legend of the two lovers in the willow garden. The scene was of a traditional Chinese pagoda, followed by a small bridge with a single man, and then two large birds flying away from the man towards the sun. It was done in soft ink, dark blue on a milky white background. Beside the cup a woman’s hand sat softly on the table. It was an old hand, covered in wrinkles, with a silver wedding band on the ring finger. Her fingernails were slightly yellow and brittle from old age, but they were kept short and had never felt the cover of nail polish. Silently, the hand sat motionless on the table. The only sound in the kitchen was the persistent ticking of the wall clock. It was one of those black smiling cat clocks with the eyes and tail that move back and forth to the tune of the seconds. On the face of the clock the hour hand had just barely snuck past the four, while the minute hand was almost covering the one. It was an hour past teatime.
