Beatrice

Beatrice walked down her creaky wooden spiral stair case into her dark kitchen, wearing nothing but a stained robe and slippers, which had cat faces sewn onto them. It was 7 in the morning on January 3rd and it was freezing in her little humble abode. She threw a log into her brick fire place, and began to light some newspaper to help ignite the wood. With the same match she quickly rushed over to her stove, hoping the flame wouldn’t go out. Once the stove was lit she began to fill up her black tea pot, and placed it onto of the burner. The room was still dark, and very silent, except for the flickering light and sound that came from the fire place. Her black cat Henry was purring, staring up at her as he wove in between her legs. He was heavily anticipating his morning meal. She crept over to the pantry got out the cat food, and began to fill Henry’s bowl.
“Woo wooo”
Her tea kettle began to cry like a baby ready for its morning bottle. Beatrice poured herself a cup of hot water, and began plunging her tea bag up and down. The tea began to mix; looking like blood in the water after a shark had just attacked an innocent baby seal. No matter how many times she brushed her mousy brown hair straight, it would always curl right back up again. Her face was rather dull; it looked like a blank canvas begging to be splattered with color. Beatrice picked up her book, that appeared as if it just came out of World War II, grabbed her tea, sat down in front of the fire and began to escape from reality.

-Brigid-