Written in response to The Creative Writing Ink, Writing Prompt Competition, April 27th.
I shakily poured the murky brown liquid into the cup, the last dregs of it tipping in. The steam, slowly beginning to rise, flooding my nostrils with the rich dark scent of coffee. The words on the mug, began to emerge as the heat started to flood the ceramic. I coddled the warmth it gave me, hugged it ever closer as I tried to remember the last conversation I had over a warm drink at a coffee shop…
When was it? Four, five years ago. I remember I sat down opposite her, and told her I was sorry, they were sending me away and I would never return. I saw her eyes flood twinkled lights as she attempted to think of why I would leave. Hurt and pain, trembled on her quivering features:
‘What?’ she asked in hesitant voice, the thoughts of mishearing my words echoed in her mind, ‘Amy…’
‘Sophie, I am sorry’, at that point her face crumbled, the foundations of the start of her life were removed, leaving brick and mortar to build itself again, ‘You cannot understand how much I am sorry, I would never leave you, but it’s not my choice.’ But that was a blatant lie, of course I had some choice in the matter and I’m here now, regretting every choice that lead me here. She left me there, alone with two steaming cups of coffee.
Sophie, I am sorry, sorry that I did not deserve someone like you, or to have the chance of crushing you, but I know how I am, I never settle. I turn the cup to see the very word, before I sigh into another gulp of self pity. But Sophie, even more than I pity you, I pity Amy, me, myself all alone up here.
I stare at the bottom of the mug, the froth floating on a thin surface of liquid, sigh at the faintly popping bubbles and pour another mug. I stare into the glassy surface, and see the stars all twinkling above me, the lonely souls all in isolation like myself, peering curiously down towards me while I down another cup. Now I truly never settle, I never will.
The mug smashes upon the floor, the tinkle of china sprinkled and splashed all around. I bend down and pick up the handle and stroke the edge. So much for staying a star sailor in the empty blissful oblivion of space. I glide the pottery across my wrist, and look up and drown in the stars.