Morning Tea

[Finnegan Flawnt]

The moods of a single morning don’t discolor all the other mornings past and future, Edna thought with relief. Color comes from within, she said loudly to the cup of bronchial tea that was letting off steam in front of her, currently the only moving thing in her house apart from Edna’s fingers scampering across the keyboard like nervous pip-squeaks. But there was a breathed question mark at the end of that sentence: what if color did not come from within - what if she needed to continue having human relationships, connections to people outside of her cosy garret? Thinking of the lack of control made her gasp and clasp the edges of her laptop. And then another part of her that she had never spoken to spilled the tea all over everything. The last thing she saw on her screen was the reflection of her own face, mouth open, looking strangely serene and happy to embrace a blue beginning.

Finnegan Flawnt is a fictitious prose-poet and purveyor of fine podcasts who lives with two females and a bad conscience under Milk Wood. He flaunts it when he's got it here.

[Joe Gensle]

Tightly woven and nice. Liked the control vs losing it (spilling coffee, another part of her that she had never spoken to

[Angela]

The dreaded blue screen offers hope, for once. Entertaining six, Flawnt.