To Boldly Nano Daily Prompt: Coffee
People were always telling her about how they’d given up coffee. As though she were a sort of confessional for the caffeine-conflicted, they would describe their travails, their ongoing battle against the dark and bitter goddess. They lingered over the description of the last cup, each warm drop a forbidden memory. They cherished their martyrdom, that much was clear. Each one had a drink of choice: the melt-in-your-mouth mocha, the lascivious latte; the timeless simplicity of the diner coffee, redolent with cream and the faint taste of sugar. The daring decadence of the creations offered at the Shop-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Said shop, ironically, was located directly next door to her office, and drew a brisk trade.
Oblivious to her existence, the Shop’s hordes filtered past her windows, day after day, clutching their cardboard cups, those wantonly disposable containers for that which they craved. The litter produced by the shop drifted down the streets of her once-peaceful neighborhood. There seemed no end to the coffee-buyers, and no end to their cups, their paper bags, their SUVs and luxury vehicles and expensive hybrids. Not one of them ever said hello to another.
Yet in the midst of all this, her clients came on, bearing sad tales like offerings, tales of love, livelihood, health, lost to caffeine. Each one claimed to be reformed, of course. To no longer crave that which had driven them for so long. To wake refreshed each morning, facing the day with, perhaps, no more than the Serenity Prayer to fire up their synapses and leave them eager to consume the challenges set before them. Some of them requested help with this, and she obliged. Often she prescribed chocolate-in its purest, liquid form, and always organic, of course. She was wise, and kind, and she knew that they needed the bitter as much as the sweet, and a rich, dark warmth that very few beverages could provide.
She didn’t mention to them that she herself began each morning with a cup or two of that which they both loved and loathed. She herself saw no basis for such potent ambiguity. It was a drink, nothing more. A drink that she enjoyed; a drink beyond compare, it goes without saying. She was not so foolish as to claim she could go without it easily. There was the matter of the color, for one thing; dark, dark, darkest brown, a shade that complemented her skin tone and warmed her like the warmest cocoon, like the feeling inside of a sweat lodge, as one crouches naked and vulnerable and cradled by the earth in the darkness. She dreamed of painting a wall of her office that exact shade of brown; she wore perfume scented with espresso beans. Without coffee, her days were sadder, and longer, yet less productive. Without coffee her genius faded, and her healing touch with it. She no longer desired to counsel her caffeine martyrs. She only wanted to return to bed.
Cross-posted at: www.toboldlynano.com, here