Layla and the tea cup


A short story from a collection, I’m calling “Snapshots” , for now. Enjoy!

Frangipani Blossom

The tea-cup lay emptied of its contents, waiting to be washed and put away, to be used again. Layla stretched lazily on the bed. Waiting for an excuse to move, a reason to get dressed. Nothing.

Far away, she could hear the train; the loud bass howl as it trundled down the tracks. She wondered what would happen if she bought a train ticket and just left.

A baby wailed in the flat next door and she knew that the neighbours had heard enough from her own flat the night before. She wished it were different. She wished that the walls were thicker.

The inside of the tea-cup was stained brown from the tannin, there was a chip on its lip but the delicate handle curved smoothly, beautifully and perfectly from top to bottom. She held it in her hand and ran her fingers along the raised blue lotus on…

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