Bohemia Village Voice

This entry came tenth in our ultra-short (250 words) story competition of last year.
Some of the judges’ comments included ‘a sad story, very real’, ‘atmospheric’, and ‘nice.’

In the kitchen she filled the kettle and took her favourite mug out of the handleless cupboard, filling it with coffee. She heard a soft padding heading down the concrete hallway towards her, with a gentle yet rapid tapping sound. Happily she was greeted by her calico cat, inspirationally named Cal. He leapt up excitedly on to the kitchen table, brushing himself against a misplaced alarm clock, knocking it off on to the floor. Claire scooped up the overweight cat, cradling him like a newborn baby, being careful not to catch on his claws. Silently she made her much needed coffee and sat down at the kitchen table with Cal curled and purring in her lap.
Not for the first time she looked around the room, taking in her surroundings. It was dark, the light bulbs had blown but she was getting used to the dark and she could still see every detail: the magnolia walls cried out for attention and tobacco stains jeered from the ceiling.
She closed her eyes tightly and imagined her dream kitchen. The one she would have one day when she had got away. It had cheerful terracotta walls with wooden cupboards, washed with blue. A round table would be in the centre with a gingham tablecloth. Flower boxes by the lattice windows and a wooden spice rack mounted on the wall.
A large, old-fashioned Aga, with a copper whistling kettle would sit proudly on the top and sprigs of lavender with lilac ribbon would hang from the beamed ceiling. She could almost feel the warmth from her imaginary house.