kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"WhatYouMiss"

words

The bird came again, today: a whistling black teakettle of a bird. It regurgitated its contents; they burned. I dodged as best I could, but the kettlemouthlip tracked my head. As if I didn't already have third degree burns from its morning wakeup call.

I had a mug. If I'd kept my temper or my wits, I might still have it, but it went with both -- off over the side in attempt to wing the bird. With that mug I might have something to save myself from the barrage, and possibly a good cup of tea.

How I miss my tea.