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Routine

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Cecilia began her Sunday routine by making herself a strong cup of coffee and sitting out on her porch watching the sun rise. Steam tendrils would rise from her mug as she curled her legs underneath her on the soft-padded chair. The horizon was glowing with vibrant orange and soft pink as the first rays broke through. When her mug was empty and the sun’s rays were strong enough to warm her cheeks, she went back inside her home to continue with her routine. She decided to make eggs benedict that morning, when she saw some leftover English muffins in her bread box. Taking care to not let any pieces of shell fall, Cecelia softly cracked two eggs against the counter before placing them in the boiling hot water. After the eggs were poached, she cracked two more and whipped them into a thick, creamy sauce with warm butter. When the muffins were toasted, the ham was pan fried, and the eggs covered in hollandaise sauce, Cecelia carefully arranged her plate. Sitting in he...
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Christmas Dinner

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My fork comes up to my mouth placing a piece of Christmas ham on my tongue. I chew and swallow before bringing my fork down to take another piece of ham from my plate. The process repeats, chew, swallow, chew. The ham isn't particularly juicy, or salty, or sweet. It doesn't taste like anything.  The monotony of the taste bores me and I reach for some mashed potatoes. Chew, swallow, chew, swallow. It tastes like the ham. Christmas Eve wasn’t always this dull. I remember embracing my children with love and affection. Now they're too busy chasing their offspring around the dinner table, telling them to behave.  I look at my wife. Her soft gray hair is cropped short, her beautiful blue eyes are clouded. I can’t seem to remember a time when her face wasn’t cut with wrinkles or she looked at me fondly. It seems with each new wrinkle the more she narrows her eyes at me. “Thank you for the ham, Cassandra,” I tell her. She gives me a half-hearted little s...
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Nightly Stroll

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  The rain began as a series of slow falling tears. The water dripped lazily from the sky and I felt no need to take out my umbrella, opting to enjoy the feeling of droplets on my skin. My boots thudded against the street as the drops fell on my face, my hair, and my hands. The slow tears became anguished sobs as the droplets accelerated their descent towards the earth. I paused, took the umbrella from my purse and opened it. Now the thudding of my boots was accompanied by the soft pattering of rain hitting nylon. I made my way to the crosswalk. The light shined bright red against the dark gray backdrop of the city. As I waited a woman was running towards the same cross walk, no umbrella in sight. She stood next to me waiting for the same light, shifting from one foot to the other, shivering slightly. I glanced at her and shifted closer, hovering the umbrella over both of us. She turned to me and smiled, showing bright crooked teeth. “Thank you so much!” She yel...
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