#04
Title: Being an Account of the Morning After the End of the World
Prompt::First cup of tea on a freezing morning
Warning: None, besides really obtuse writing.
Length: A drabble and a half. (150 words precisely, counting the title.)
Disclaimer: so not mine.
AN: Late, short and unbeta’d! Triple threat.
Being An Account of the Morning After the End of the World.
He always took three sugars in his tea, but today he ate four. The last one he sucked while the water seeped, brown swirling and spreading to pervade it. Remus watched it in appearing-fascination, trying to ignore the dull notes the sugar took on after a while.
It was difficult to survive on sugar and white bread, he remembered, but he had managed. It had been a while since he had to, but times change and this time was new. New, strange and sterile white.
The sunlight was vivid, belying the frigid morning. It was stark, both illuminating and harsh. The kitchen was startlingly white and overwhelmingly, completely empty. He felt like he wasn’t really there enough to count.
He drank the tea so hot and quickly it scalded his tongue, but he called it a catharsis.
Prompt::First cup of tea on a freezing morning
Warning: None, besides really obtuse writing.
Length: A drabble and a half. (150 words precisely, counting the title.)
Disclaimer: so not mine.
AN: Late, short and unbeta’d! Triple threat.
Being An Account of the Morning After the End of the World.
He always took three sugars in his tea, but today he ate four. The last one he sucked while the water seeped, brown swirling and spreading to pervade it. Remus watched it in appearing-fascination, trying to ignore the dull notes the sugar took on after a while.
It was difficult to survive on sugar and white bread, he remembered, but he had managed. It had been a while since he had to, but times change and this time was new. New, strange and sterile white.
The sunlight was vivid, belying the frigid morning. It was stark, both illuminating and harsh. The kitchen was startlingly white and overwhelmingly, completely empty. He felt like he wasn’t really there enough to count.
He drank the tea so hot and quickly it scalded his tongue, but he called it a catharsis.