A Heartfelt Dream by D.J.J. Mitzi, a chai latte

 

The stars twinkled and sparkled like faraway candles in the night sky. A cool breeze brushed against his skin and whispered untold secrets into his ears. Secrets of love. The emotions they evoked were sea blue, wobbling and stirring and emanating with nostalgia. Softly, the grass pushed up against his skin and gave him a pleasant itch. He sat up, only now noticing the beautiful city alive before his eyes, glowing magnificently. The waves lapped gently against the shore and sprayed light foamy water onto his bare legs. The scene before him was life-filled and mysterious. It made him think longingly of odd memories from long ago. For a moment it seemed as though this dream would last forever. But as sweet as it was, no dream will ever last forever. Yet that doesn’t stop you hoping that you’ll have the same dream the next night. You never do, though. Nor do you the night after.

He opened his eyes, to the sound of his alarm beeping loudly, but then closed them again without going back to sleep. His thick quilt had kept him warm and cosy throughout the cool night, and that warmth was there still, calling for him to melt back into his soft mattress and go back to sleep. Unable to resist that call, he hit the snooze button and drifted off without actually dreaming. The alarm went off ten minutes later. He hit it again. And again. He snoozed his alarm three times before he actually got out of bed, and he only resisted the temptation to snooze it a fourth time out of fear of being late to work. As it was, he would be cutting it close. He had a shower. Ate breakfast. Buttoned his suit, buckled his pants, locked the doors and then caught the bus to the train station, and the train to work. He already felt ordinary, but everything about his life made him feel even more ordinary. A thousand people, if not more, he passed in a day. And every one of them just like him. Ordinary.

His office job was no different. Mundane and boring. The sound of tapping keyboards and formal dialogue filled the space. His trousers were tight and his blazer was uncomfortable. Every day was the same. No better. No worse. And in no way was it like his dreams; the exotic, mystical, fantastical escape that awaited him at the end of a long day.

Time passed dismally. At ten o’clock he got a message from his mother. Just checking in, hope you’re okay. Stay safe. He waited till one o’clock before he took his break and went down the street to get some food from the shop down the road. When the clock hit three, he stopped working and began playing minesweeper. He got back to work after five minutes. At four he placed a pile of reports on his bosses’ desk. At five he shut down his desktop computer, pulled his bag over his shoulders and farewelled his co-workers with a wave and a laugh. He walked down the hallway until he came to the thick steel double doors of the lift. The down arrow on the side lit up green when he pressed it. A few moments passed before a loud ding sounded and the doors of the lift opened.

He gasped. The lift was empty, except for a young girl with long dark brown curls that had been tied up into a ponytail with a scarlet ribbon. Her eyes were sky blue, and her lips were red like a rose. She wore formal attire, and carried a bag by her side. The company he worked for was quite large, with many different teams and sections and many people he’d never met. And he was sure that he’d never met her before. He would have remembered if he’d had. He stood frozen for a moment. But quickly recomposed himself and stepped into the lift beside her.

There was another ding as the doors closed and shut with a thud. A hearty silence settled between them. The girl turned a little, she looked up at him, and he looked down at her at the same time. He only just managed to catch her awkward half-smile, which was as warm as a clear summer’s day, before she looked away. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt his heart begin to beat abnormally fast and decided not to. Her cheeks reddened slightly in the silence that followed. The lift began its descent. Floor 12. Floor 11. Floor 10. They both stared ahead at the silver doors in front of them. Floor 9.

A single moment. It was now or never.

‘Courage dear heart,’ he said aloud without even thinking.

She looked at him again, this time with quite a puzzled manner, but then her face lit up as she suddenly realised he had recited a quote. She noticed The Great Divorce was sticking out of her bag awkwardly because she hadn’t zipped it up properly.

‘You’re a fan of Lewis?’

He unzipped his own bag, pulled a thin book out and held it out to show her. Narnia.

She laughed and her face reddened even more this time. She opened her mouth to keep talking, but then the doors of the lift opened. The girl peered up at him, as if she was about to say something else, but then her gaze fell down and she walked out of the lift. The doors closed and his heart sank. The lift was hardly moving again before he noticed she’d dropped something. The Great Divorce was lying on the lift floor, half open. He picked it up. Her full name was written on the inside of the first page. He stood up straighter, with a heartfelt smile drawn over his face. He guessed he would have to return it.

He never had the same dream twice, except for those two nights. Once again, he was lying on the soft grass, in front of a glowing city with the foam of the waves splashing gently upon him, and a beautiful voice beside sending dazzling notes floating gently through the air. And when he woke up it was like the dream had never ended. After he’d found her name, it wasn’t hard to get in touch with her. His company’s email addresses were all the same. First letter of the first name and last name. He received a reply to the email mere minutes after he hit the send button.

 

Glad you picked it up. Can you meet me somewhere during my lunch break? And maybe, if you’d like, we could get some coffee while we’re there.

Indeed, today was not an ordinary day. 

 

About the author

D.J.J.Mizzi is an avid writer and has been writing for as long as he can remember. His favourite genre is fantasy. His writing can be found on theeverydaywriter.blog

 

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My Way by Xavier Zapater, chai latte

 

Sarah regularly went to the Staunton Cafe. An old business in the neighborhood, one of those of a lifetime. She was an independent woman who worked for various companies as a digital marketing freelancer. Although she didn't have time to spend all the money she earned, she seemed content with her busy life. She always used to have the same breakfast: carrot cake and chai latte, her favorite drink. Sarah, as usual, came to the cafeteria and sat down. The waiter, who already knew her served her breakfast.

- Hello Sarah.

- Hi Mike, thanks.

Sarah put on her headphones to block out the noise. The music helped her focus. She organized his entire life around his job, but that day, something changed. As she savored his breakfast, she read a phrase on the wall: "From a certain point onward, there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached". The quote caught his attention. She stopped the audio player and asked Mike.

- Mike, excuse me, who said the phrase on the wall?

- It's from Franz Kafka, the writer of The Metamorphosis.

- Oh! I didn't know that quote. It makes you think. What do you think it means?

- I'm not sure. Perhaps, it has to do with the idea of making decisions and what they imply.

- Yes, I think so. I like your point of view. Thanks, Mike.

- You're welcome.

Mike went back to the bar to attend to other customers. Sarah continued to check the email. She still had a long list of emails to answer. She hadn't slept well that night and was having trouble concentrating more than usual. It was scattered. So she started checking his social networks. In them, she only found selfies and photos of food or travels. The typical thing that people usually upload to the network. She felt even worse, she didn't understand what was happening to her, but her head kept questioning if she was doing something interesting with her life. So, she called Mike back.

- Mike, excuse me, are you busy?

- No, not now. How can I help you?

- I keep thinking about what we talked about before.

- Oh! I see what made you think of that phrase.

- Yeah, well, it's not just that. I've been thinking about leaving everything for a long time, but I don't dare take the step. I'm too used to my work routine.

- So, what prevents you from taking that step?

- I guess it's the fear of losing what I have.

- Why don't you take a vacation?

- Yes, I have also valued that, but I think to change my lifestyle. I spend most of my time working as if I didn't know how to do anything else, and I barely have a social life. Also, I don't have any hobbies either.

- I have an idea, you could go to Spain to do the Camino de Santiago. There you will have time to find yourself.

- Oh! Sounds good. I think it's a great idea.

- If you'll excuse me. I'm going to the checkout counter.

- Sure, thank you very much for listening to me, Mike.

- You're welcome, Sarah.

Sarah closed all the browser windows and searching information about the Camino de Santiago. Minutes later, she was buying a plane ticket to Barcelona. She closed the computer, walked over to the checkout counter, and handed Mike the money.

- Thanks for coming, Sarah.

- You're welcome, Mike. Thank you for the advice. I'm going to do the Camino de Santiago.

- Oh! Yes? All right. It'll be great. When you get back, tell me how everything went.

- Of course.

- Nice ride, Sarah.

- Thanks, Mike. See you soon.

About the author

Xavier has been working in the film industry for many companies as a Production Assistant. Likewise, he enjoys Cycling Touring. He rode across Iceland and the North of Spain. He has lived for one year and a half in Melbourne, Australia working as a Kitchen Porter.

Brooms, Bulls, and Brews by Fleur Lind, chai latte,

 

Agnes was itching to fly again.  Her broom had been in for repairs at Bart’s Broom Repairs since her untimely, embarrassing and rather painful collision with a bull, which had followed after flying through a cloud disguising a bolt of lightning.  The clap of thunder that followed was also enough to rock her on her broomstick. She had been jolted off course and hurtled toward the ground, spiraling out of control, doing summersaults as she desperately tried to pull her Magnum 2020 back into line.  These were tricks that would normally only be seen by a  witch with vastly more years of flying experience, but Agnes was looking every bit the pro as she smashed the moves among the clouds. Like a bucking bronco, the air pockets were hard and had tossed her about like a rag doll.  As a result, her custom-made broom, a gift from her mother, was in bad shape.

The bull wasn’t impressed, either.  Agnes had tried to swoop, pulling the handle up hard, her eyes squinting, not wanting to see what her fate would be if she was eyeballed by the bull while he was mating.  With her eyes closed tight on impact, Agnes skittled the bull and his mate, the three of them tumbling on the grass, sliding through freshly dropped, as well as hard crusty cowpats. The bull snorted his annoyance, his nostrils flaring, the cow, her brown eyes huge with horror, mooed mournfully, confused as to why her ‘afternoon delight’ was over so abruptly.

            A week or so later and back on her repaired broom, Agnes once again was relishing the wind in her face and with a mix of euphoria and adrenaline, was savoring the pure joy of flying.  Her crooked nose twitched with delight.

 As she scanned the landscape below, she saw a secluded place in town.  She didn’t want to surprise unsuspecting mortals by swooping in on the foot traffic, but the town was hosting a Busking Festival and with many interesting and unusual performances on the footpath,  onlookers would assume she was one of the acts. 

 Her landing was far softer than previously in the paddock, and so as not to waste any time in snaring the attention of the foot traffic, with expert efficiency she set up with her wares for an impromptu show. With a spell, she conjured up her cauldron, potions pot, and some tiny bottles filled with colourful, devilish liquids. She tossed in some tasty accessories, for luck. She always added condiments; frogs toe, wool of bat, and eye of newt.   

The cauldron’s contents bubbled and steamed, making for an impressive sight for onlookers and a good witch’s brew. Agnes then stood as still as a statue.  Pedestrians stopped to watch. Her stillness was hypnotic. 

            A woman walked towards her and as she passed, Agnes followed her with her eyes then broke her frozen stance and let out a loud cackle. The woman jumped, startled.  Her growing audience laughed and clapped as they tossed coins into her pot.  A woman with her baby in a stroller walked past.  Agnes licked her lips.  “How much for the child?” she asked in a wickedly devious tone. 

              The woman scuttled past quickly with the stroller.

 Two children stopped.  Agnes picked up the apple, holding it out to offer them, “You want a little bite?  It’s very tasteee….” Her voice was melodious and luring as the word trailed off.

The children stepped back, pouted, and shook their heads assertively.

 A young woman walked by, so Agnes cackled again.  Holding Ferdinand, her frog, she caught the woman’s eye. 

“You want a little kiss?  All your dreams will come true-ooo…” she ended in a cheeky, melodious tone.

The young woman smiled nervously, wondering how to pass Agnes without being taken with the magic of her wand.  Thinking Agnes was ‘only busking’, albeit very cleverly at that, the woman thought there was still something very authentic about the witch.  Agnes’s attention to detail with her costume and script.  There was something a little unnerving about her.

 Despite any apprehensions the gathered crowd may have had, Agnes’s pot was filling with money.  The clink of coins as they dropped into the bottomless pot, was very pleasing.

Finally, as her last act, she produced a potion bottle.  Try my potion, you won’t be disappointed,” Her tone was sweet but menacing.

 So as not to cause too much of a stir,  Agnes didn’t cast a spell to turn anyone into cats, rats, or elephants.  At the end of the day, after her audience dispersed, she cast a spell and made her props disappear.   Feeling very satisfied with her first public performance, she counted her money and grinned. “Same time, same place, tomorrow!” she murmured wickedly.

 

About the author

Fleur is a Kiwi, living in SE Queensland. She enjoys the fun, challenge, and possibilities of short stories. She is a member of the local writer's group and contributes shorties to the weekly paper. For more of Fleur's work: fleursfabulousfables.wordpress.com

Seized

 by Elizabeth Morse

chai latte

The sky was brighter than Kathy had ever remembered. Beds of red and yellow flowers surrounded her. Women and children strolled along garden paths around a sundial. One woman crouched low and looked her tiny daughter in the eye. ‘Look at the shape of the petals,’ she said. The little girl clapped excitedly, hair shaking as she laughed.

Farther away, girls her own age stood, like the ones in her sixth grade class. Only two other students sat with her at lunch after Mary, her best friend, told the others about the boy Kathy had a crush on.

‘Oh my God!’ her mother said. ‘You must have had a seizure! Longest three minutes of my life!’

Kathy’s tongue throbbed. Her head and back ached as well.  Her mother pressed her hand for the entire ambulance ride.

‘Did she have a fever?’ The doctor asked. ‘Insomnia? Was she starving to lose weight?’ Kathy’s mother shook her head. ‘Well, it’s one seizure. Could happen to anyone.’  

No one should know this happened. Seizures were serious.

The next episode was a couple of weeks later. A girl Kathy’s age with a long, blond braid introduced herself as Becca. They sat together on the sundial. Both had devoured the Harry Potter series. Each had a room that was light green. Kathy confided that Mary had told a group of girls her secret. 

‘Oh, no!’ Becca exclaimed. ‘I wouldn't do that.’ They laughed and talked, and  Kathy had a positive feeling about the friendship. 

Overhead, the trees shimmered with unusual light. The colors were more intense than Kathy had ever seen. The sky’s blue almost had a taste, like a blue popsicle from long ago. 

‘No!’ her mother said. ‘Not another one!’ 

Again, pain shot through Kathy’s tongue and back. Wetness seeped through her jeans. 

This time, there was no hospital visit. Kathy’s mother picked her up from school before lunch. As they walked down the school stairs, Kathy looked behind her. She would say it was a dentist appointment if someone asked. She and her mother rode the bus uptown to see a neurologist who had wisps of gray hair on either side of his bald head. He said, ‘She has epilepsy, so I’m prescribing Keppra.’ 

Kathy’s mother sighed.

The doctor turned to Kathy. ‘You’re twelve. Many kids outgrow seizures.’ 

Reassured, Kathy nodded, hoping the capsules wouldn’t be too big. Maybe they’d work and she’d never have another one. Still, she had a feeling that her brain had warped.

The next time, Becca was smiling and waving. She had on a fuchsia t-shirt. ‘My mother is going to pick us up,’ she said. ‘She made chocolate chip cookies.’ 

‘We’ll go to your house?’

‘It’ll be fun.’

She followed Becca to the garden gate. Outside, there was a two-lane road bounded on the other side by a stone fence. Becca’s mother waved from the front seat of a gray car, and the two girls got in. 

In the kitchen at Becca’s, the sink, stove, and refrigerator were all turquoise. Becca offered saucer-sized cookies from a ceramic jar. When Kathy bit into one, she’d hardly tasted anything better. 

‘Can I use your phone to call my mother?’ she said. 

Becca gestured toward a white landline phone, and when Kathy picked it up, there was no dial tone. She must be having another seizure. Was she in another dimension or was all this an illusion? People with epilepsy were known to have unusual perceptions, like déjà vu or the smell of smoke when no one was lighting up.

Becca’s mother served them chicken curry and rice. There was homemade vanilla ice cream that glinted silver.

When they’d finished eating, Becca led Kathy into the backyard. ‘Let’s have an adventure,’ she said. 

‘Sure!’

‘Want to learn to fly? I’ll show you!’ Becca jumped. The air lifted her to the second floor window and back down. How was this even possible? 

‘Now you try.’ 

‘I can’t!’ 

‘Just jump. The wind will carry you.’

Kathy closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. This wasn’t going to work. She hopped, and incredibly, her feet lifted off the ground. She rose past the roof and looked at the tiles. Becca joined her and they went soaring past houses, fields, and hills. They crossed a river with a train moving swiftly over a high bridge. The sky was still blue, but the shimmering light began to dim as the sun dropped toward the horizon. 

Kathy’s head filled with sand. Now she was in a hospital bed and her tongue wouldn’t stop hurting. There was an IV drip. The sky through the window was dark. 

‘Mom?’

‘I’m so glad you’re finally awake. The seizures just wouldn’t stop.’ Her mother sat in a chair by her side.

She and Becca had just been talking as they’d ascended over the landscape. This was the worst time to be back.

Before her visit to Becca’s, she was in class with a paraprofessional who watched her from the first bell to dismissal. Both of them sat at the back of the room, away from the other students. She might as well have been in a wheelchair. 

Her classmates avoided her. The boy she had a crush on never turned in her direction anymore. They must sense something was wrong, as though she were a defective book, one with half the pages torn out. Sometimes her thoughts flew apart. She’d never have friends now, let alone trustworthy ones. 

The seizures would just keep coming. Clearly, Kathy wasn’t going to outgrow them. Becca’s radiant face returned for a moment. Even if she didn’t exist, she was still a friend. Soon enough, the two of them would be flying over brilliant, new land. 

About the author

Elizabeth Morse's work has been published in literary magazines such as The Raven’s Perch and Hazmat Review, and anthologies such as Crimes of the Beats and The Unbearables Big Book of Sex. She has her MFA from Brooklyn College.