Cafe at the Edge of the World

Here be dragons

Up front, an author signs a single copy of Unknown, her pen name a synonym for_______. You push your chair back from a murder of crows dressed in enormous wings— ignore their claws as if Distracted is your superhero power.

Still, liquid light disappears into the darkness you hold between both hands. You swirl in lesser transgressions for flavor — the Christmas you leapt out of politeness and tore down someone’s spidery version of nice, the Easter you set your hair on fire and tap-danced all the unspoken things across a polished table.

Or maybe not. Maybe all you ever did was touch knife to fork, lay your napkin in your lap and pass the condiments clockwise. But then. . .why are you here? You doomscroll through your phone in search of the moment you fell from the family tree.

But the past blurs beyond recording. The keys whir player piano songs too fast for reality. Its pixelated music ricochets between walls and even the crows startle, their feathers ruffling the stale air. On the other side of fishbowl, the sky billows in blue waves. Stay or go?

Inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” and J.D. Harms’ Wednesday prompt. If you want to join in, you can read it here:

Lori Lamothe