A Short Story

I rarely share my writing on my blog.  Fear of plagiarism, I suppose.  I also don't like unsolicited criticism.  But I thought I'd share a short story of sorts I wrote last week.  I'll accept gentle feedback.  Obviously compliments are welcome, and constructive criticism will be considered.  This story isn't for a class or contest; it's just something I felt like writing.  It doesn't have a title, so if anyone has any suggestions... :)

Eyes tired, I blearily glance up from the impossible algebra homework in front of me.  Rain tap dances consistently on my roof.  It streams down the windowpane.  Stretching my stiff limbs, I rise from the cushy spot on my ocean-like rug before proceeding to press my palm against the cool, smooth glass of the window.

Today is more of a curl up with a book day.  Schoolwork can wait.

I tiptoe down the creaky, ancient stairs, determined to not disrupt the tranquility.  Balancing on my toes, I retrieve the tea kettle from the top of the refrigerator.  As the water heats, my fingers dance over the various tea bags.

While I wait for my tea, the gears begin to turn.  Slowly, a story forms in my head.  I make a mad scramble for my writer’s notebook where I frantically scribble the short tale.

My fantasy cracks and breaks when a sharp whistle sounds.  I tumble off the kitchen stool and lunge for the tea kettle.  The steaming water tumbles into the mug with the sunflower on it.  I add a dash of sugar.

Back upstairs, tea in hand, my eyes trace over book spines.  As usual, the choice leaves me conflicted.  How can I choose just one book to read?  My heart sighs with relief when I finally pick Sense and Sensibility.

Then I settle on my futon, the tea on the low table beside me.  A fluffy blanket settles across my lap like a gentle old dog.  I open the book and disappear into 19th century England.  It’s as if Illinois in 2013 is no more.