short stories

hot tea

From her rackety shelf in the kitchen Mug could see all the nice cups, regally laid in their comfortable saucers, all perfectly alined, like a small, fragile army. Next to them, standing tall and proud was Teapot. He was perfectly round, with a shiny, pearly white exterior where several cerulean geishas danced. Mug never hang out with that fancy crowd, she was an every day type of crockery, always being left in the sink after holding scalding coffee. But what she dreamt about every night was being set on the dining table and being filled to the brim with piping hot tea by handsome Teapot. One night, when the kitchen was already dark, someone came in and dropped something in the sink. It slowly slid down some plates, clinked softly against a pile of cutlery and finally landed right next to a half a sleep Mug. When she opened her eyes she could hardly believe what she saw. Teapot was right there, trying to shake some greasy water from his dancing geishas.

"I'm sorry if I startled you!" he said. "Don't worry." mumbled Mug nervously. Teapot contemplated her with a faint, kind smile "I don't think I have ever seen you around." "I don't get out of the kitchen much." she replied. "Lucky for you! It doesn't get much more boring than the cupboard! And those cups, insufferable creatures! I couldn't stand another day of hearing them brag about their fine porcelain and their hand painted flowers!" "Well, no fancy cups in here! Just chipped, old mugs like me!" "You are a fine mug! I love your...flowers?" Mug quickly looked down at her decorations. "Flowers and butterflies if I recall. Dishwasher wiped off most of it." "Still some really beautiful smudges of color!" Teapot said abashed. "Anyway, I'm Teapot." "Nice to meet you Teapot, I'm Mug."

Suddenly Mug realized that Teapot had a big chunk missing from his handle, that explained his presence in the sink.

"I'm really sorry about your handle." Mug muttered. "The dog knocked me down! I was lucky it was just my handle. It's fine though, I'm happy to move into the kitchen." As he said these words he stared warmly at Mug and she felt a shiver running down her handle.

"Maybe we can meet at the kitchen table one of these days?" he asked tenderly. "I would love that." she replied.

That night, when she went to sleep, Mug's heart was warmer and she dreamt of piping hot tea.