Bits and Bobs

Drabble

Took a creative writing course this past semester. So I'm gunna post a bit of my work from that. This one was a quick little thing we were meant to write for the final week; nothing elaborate.

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​Cleo yanked the shop door open like she wanted to rip it off its hinges. The moment she did, the air con smacked her in the face. Not only that, but the smell of cinnamon and vanilla, coffee beans, and bread flitted round her; she all but floated into the place.

​Eternally grateful to have evaded the heatwave vengefully flouncing around outside, Cleo blindly sidled up to the queue for something cool to drink. There was a man ahead of her who couldn't have been more than thirty years old. He wore what looked like board shorts and a Hawaiian style button-up with a pair of black Adidas sandals. His dark hair was done up in a lazy bun, and he had little hairs falling out of it and down his neck. He ordered a matcha water with "extra, extra ice, please, ta."

​After the barista took the man's money and sent him on his merry way, she glanced at Cleo and smiled. Cleo approached her. "Hiya!" the girl greeted sprightly. "How can I help ya?" Her name tag was prettily scrawled in pink with the name 'Alexis' on it.

​Cleo stared at the menu and didn't look away from it as she replied, "Hi, yeah, can I get an iced something or other with like, a shitload of caffeine? Please?"

​The barista chortled but recovered quickly. "A latte?"

​Cleo nodded. "Yeah, the biggest size possible with like, five shots of espresso, please?" 'Why not?' Cleo thought. She'd just emerged from the semester — battered, bruised, and with a 4.0. She bloody deserved it.

​The barista finished the transaction, and Cleo ambled off to find a seat in the crowded shop. Clearly, this was one of the few places around with controlled, artificial air. Cleo sat down in the corner farthest away from the door and two seats to the left of the guy with the man-bun. Upon closer inspection, Cleo noticed that the man still had the tag on his floral-patterned top. He must have purchased it in a desperate attempt to survive the unexpected heat.

​"Oi!" came a sudden, resonant voice. Cleo quickly looked up and easily spotted her best friend, Omar. He had on a pair of cutoff denim shorts that left his brown thighs exposed and a white vest that left his lanky, tattooed arms on display. "Why didn't you get me anyfin'?" Instead of giving Cleo the opportunity to respond, he rolled his eyes and went over to the tills to order.

​A few moments later, Omar plopped down with a rather large iced tea and Cleo's latte.
​"Jesus Christ, is it really end of term?" he bellowed, forehead flat on the distressed, wooden table. "I never thought I'd see it with me own eyes!"

​"How'd you do?" Cleo sipped her latte. She held back a guttural moan. "I know you were struggling with that Creative Writing course, yeah."

​Omar waved his hand flippantly. "Passed by the skin of me teeth." He slurped his tea. "If I see or hear the word 'prose' one more time, I'ma scream."

​"It's so weird cause you're an ace writer, Love." Cleo's phone chimed. She unlocked it with a fingertip and quickly scrolled through her email.

​Omar glanced down at the table. There was a ring of condensation where his tea had been. "Cheers, Babe, but I reckon you're obligated to say that."

​"Perhaps if you, I don't know, post your work then you'd finally believe me." Cleo reached her arm out across the table and wiggled her fingers at the Pakistani boy.

​"Yeah," Omar chirped, "no, I'm good." He tore at a napkin offhandedly.

​"Christ, what are you so scared of?" Cleo tried in vain to contain her voice.

​"Hm, let me think," Omar chuckled, "rejection, failure, false eyelashes, the dark." He ticked each word off on his fingers. "Shall I continue?"
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Cleo rolled her eyes in a manner that defied gravity. "One day, you tosser, one day."