Skip to main content

15 min. writing self-challenge

Cassandra stepped into a coffee shop that was cool and dark in contrast to the blinding light outside. The odors of coffee and fresh pastries wafted even through the doorway with each swing of the door to the patrons at rest in the patio chairs outside.

She needed a moment to collect herself before her big interview.

She stepped up to the coffee bar and met the gaze of a tall, slender man with long, pale hair and sea-green eyes. He gazed back at her penetratingly for a moment before he collected himself to take her order.

Cassandra realized with a slightly dazed feeling that he wasn't human. Could this be one of the angels rumored to be colonizing Cristalle? She tried not to pay any more note to him and focused herself on her order.

As she scanned over the daily offerings she was filled with self-doubt, derived probably from her pending interview with a great idol of hers. She had no idea if her coffee order should say something about her, be the opposite of all that she was, be parsimonous or extravagant.

She ordered a masala coffee redolent with spices and mystique, something whose odor would transport her for a while to a gypsy caravan under the desert sun.

"My personal favorite," the man behind the counter commented, to which Cassandra did not have a reply.

Because there were no customers in line behind her he started on her order immediately, and Cassandra watched his deft, efficient work as he ground, spiced and brewed her coffee.

He gave her a backward glance after a moment. "So what are you doing today?" he asked.

Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

The secret to a happy home

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things. 1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else. She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better. 2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journ...
more &

Sprouts

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.
more &

Blanche, a re-telling of Snow White

I began this story after reading a collection of short stories by Angela Carter. “Snow White” has always been a favorite tale of mine and I have placed this re-telling in nineteenth-century rural Louisiana. Near Vacherie, Louisiana, there are not only swamps but also old beautiful plantations. Some of them are restored but others are abandoned and ruined. The places I have seen captured my imagination and I combined them with my impression of Snow White as an object of envy and lust. My heroine Blanche is a hard-working girl who longs to be rich and to live in New Orleans, where her father was born. She is threatened constantly by the attention of the rustics who live around her. Her stepmother beats her when she finds Blanche in Jean-Jacques’ arms. When Blanche runs away from home she is beguiled by Philipe de la Roche, who persuades her to live in New Orleans in a fancy house with seven women. Blanche does not realize that the women are prostitutes. The farmer Jean-Jacques, who love...
more &