fiction · poetry

Little black Magic

I’m gonna share with Y’all a short story called Little Black Magic

this story is a part of an Anthology, Called Grimmest Things by Honey due.

The book was a Five Stars for, so i wanted to share with you guys, a little part of why i fell in love with Grimmest Things.

here you go


LITTLE BLACK MAGIC

PROMPT –LITERALLY

He sucks the air between him and his coffee mug when she passes by him. He looks down, deep into his laptop screen and he pretends to read the words that made sense only a moment before. He’d like to spy on her but doesn’t. She’s at the counter, probably ordering her own little mug of magic. This is the best place in town, yet he’s never seen her here.

He allows himself to become immersed in the words on his screen as he tries to spy with his left ear on what she’s ordering. Vanilla All White. He’s never heard of that since he usually has a simple, straight black.

He’s not a fancy man, but he likes her and he works hard to get up the courage to talk to her.

Later, they will be sitting in bed, after making love and she’ll be pouring out moisturizer in fat dollops on her skin, smearing it all over, making herself soft and pretty. And she’ll tell him how she came to love coffee in a little shop in France, where she worked on and off for about two years and where she had this amazingly short but intense crush on her French co-worker, who was sadly happily married.

Somehow, their whole relationship becomes based on coffee, in time. Since they did meet in a coffee shop and she is so into it, they are one of those couples who go out for coffee a lot. And they have three big jars in their kitchen, where she keeps different brands of coffee. One Nigerian, one from Costa Rica and one –obviously –pure French. He can’t tell the difference, but she does and loves each for its own special reason.

And in his wedding speech, he doesn’t say a word. He just stares at his beautiful bride and unveils something on a silver tray. A coffee mug, what else, full of steaming hot coffee for her to drink. And he explains, through her tears, that without coffee, without this very mug, they would have never been together.

They wouldn’t have happened. Because see, it’s not by chance that he goes to that elegant little coffee shop, but because he has an obsession with their big mugs. And that day, after spending two hours talking to the beautiful, mysterious girl that became his wife, he bought the mug she’d had her coffee in.

And here it is. And here she is, with her take-out Vanilla All White, going out the door and the little writer man watches his life through the window, going. Towards the subway, probably. And he looks at the screen in front of him and smiles, although it never literally happened.

 

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