FLASH FICTION
Morning Worship
At the altar of Keurig.
December 1st Microfiction
I pull a cup down from the cabinet strategically located right over my coffee maker. I love my single-cup brewer — I never have to guess the water ratios to spoonfuls of grounds. Just pop the pod in, snap the lid shut, and press the button. I want the big one today, of course.
There’s a dull ache in my head, a reminder of the night that I can’t remember well. My kitchen’s fuzzy in front of my eyes, but instead of trying to focus my brain, I just absorb the scent of my brewing coffee. I inhale it deeply through my nose and hold onto that breath for a moment before exhaling. The gurgling of the stream that’s pouring into my cup bears a promise of pleasure that I shall indulge in.
I remind myself that I don’t have to waste this time waiting for my cup to fill — this time can be better used getting the creamer from the fridge. I shake the bottle of French Vanilla while I bring it back to the counter and inhale the scent of my coffee once more. It’s already clearing my head just a bit and I am getting a distinct sense that I’m forgetting something. What I am forgetting, I don’t yet know. I have to savor this cup first.
Swirling the creamer into the blackness, I watch as it turns a rich caramel color before I…
