Hot, strong, and bittersweet
This week's ar_drabbles prompt is so inspiring (or is it just the accompanying icon?) that I'm not even waiting until I've poured morning coffee cup #4 to get down to writing.
Morning coffee in the detention center sucked. It was a lukewarm and its color was indistinguishable from her bucket of wastes, but even the Cylons knew that coffee was a sacred ritual and never came to torture a prisoner until the cup was drained.
Every morning she allowed herself a different memory.
Her sisters bringing her a cup of coffee in bed the morning after her first date, wanting to hear all about what boys were really like.
A quiet classroom before the students came in, standing by the open window with a cup in her hand and the smell of spring all around her.
Sitting with Mother during diloxan treatments, listening to some volunteer play the harp and breakfasting on coffee and cream cakes.
Morning staff meetings at budget time, when everyone was still hopeful and fresh, thinking of ways to improve Colonial education and never-you-mind the cuts that will come later.
Curled into the co-pilot's chair of Colonial One, sharing the meager hoarded stock of coffee with the captain and getting to know the man upon whom her life will depend.
Waking up next to Bill in the New Caprican dawn, making him a cup of herbal coffee-substitute, apologizing for its lack of taste and praising its value as a stimulant. "I see this planet is just full of drugs," he'd said. "I never did like coffee." She'd expressed her surprise, having shared many cups of something like coffee with him on Galactica. "I prefer tea," he told her, "but that ran out long ago." She told him he was in luck, that the local tea-equivalent was much better than the coffee-substitute, and that the next time he'd come visit, she'd have a package for him to take back home.
The package was still waiting in her tent.
Morning coffee in the detention center sucked. It was a lukewarm and its color was indistinguishable from her bucket of wastes, but even the Cylons knew that coffee was a sacred ritual and never came to torture a prisoner until the cup was drained.
Every morning she allowed herself a different memory.
Her sisters bringing her a cup of coffee in bed the morning after her first date, wanting to hear all about what boys were really like.
A quiet classroom before the students came in, standing by the open window with a cup in her hand and the smell of spring all around her.
Sitting with Mother during diloxan treatments, listening to some volunteer play the harp and breakfasting on coffee and cream cakes.
Morning staff meetings at budget time, when everyone was still hopeful and fresh, thinking of ways to improve Colonial education and never-you-mind the cuts that will come later.
Curled into the co-pilot's chair of Colonial One, sharing the meager hoarded stock of coffee with the captain and getting to know the man upon whom her life will depend.
Waking up next to Bill in the New Caprican dawn, making him a cup of herbal coffee-substitute, apologizing for its lack of taste and praising its value as a stimulant. "I see this planet is just full of drugs," he'd said. "I never did like coffee." She'd expressed her surprise, having shared many cups of something like coffee with him on Galactica. "I prefer tea," he told her, "but that ran out long ago." She told him he was in luck, that the local tea-equivalent was much better than the coffee-substitute, and that the next time he'd come visit, she'd have a package for him to take back home.
The package was still waiting in her tent.