Tea (An extremely short story)

Drawing of a typewriter“I am completely sane,” she said. “Of that I can assure you.”

She stirs her coffee and takes the daintiest sip.

“Ah, just the way I like it,” she said, “cold and bitter.”

I stared at her, and then at the cup.

“Do you want some? I can fix one for you,” she said.

“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t drink coffee in the afternoon.”

“What do you drink in the afternoon? What would you like to have right now?” she said.

“Just tea. Do you have some tea?” I said.

“Of course,” she said. “Beatrice,” she called out. “Beatrice.”

“Who’s Beatrice?” I said.

“My maid,” she said.

“You have a maid?” I said.

“Yes, and her name is Beatrice,” she said.

“Since when did you have a maid?” I said.

The door creaked and opened slightly. A Shorthair cat walked in ever so slowly, stopped at Mary’s foot, and purred. Under the cat’s collar hung an oval pendant with the name: “Bea”.

“Your servant’s a cat?” I said.

“She’s British,” she said. Then she said to the cat, “Bea, be a darling and bring in the tea things.”

“Which would you prefer, your ladyship, Scottish Breakfast or Earl Grey?” Bea said.

“William?” Mary said.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s