The steam from the kettle fades in the background. Like the static of a television turned to no particular channel. But there are no tv’s here. Only the fading warmth of a kettle.
And a stool.
There’s a stool in front of the kettle. A three-legged one. On it sits some thing.
The thing just keeps staring at the heart of the kettle. The heart is where the fire is. And it’s slowly fading. Beating its last beats. The thing can tell. It’s seen this before. It’s felt this before.
The thing just watches. It just watches as it sits. The thing thinks itself as a visitor in the kettle’s wake. The flame’s not dead yet, the thing observes, but it won’t be long. The thing knows this, and it’s never been wrong.
At least the thing will keep enjoying the warmth before it’s gone.
|Originally written: March 07, 2022
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Choice Cuts
Short StorySweetest Decay, Series 1 A collection of my short stories I first published in my writing blog, Sweet Decay.
