Saturday's Storyteller: "Sven and Maria's coffee table was in fact a glass cube filled with tropical fish."
by Belinda Roddie
Sven and Maria's coffee table was in fact a glass cube filled with tropical fish. Their television set was in fact not a television set, but a window to the outside, which appeared terribly active for a Sunday evening. Colin was far too busy observing the antics of the Vinyls dancing and grinding to their boombox, perched on the hood of their SX-model Humdinger Van, and waiting for law enforcement to take its course.
"You are enjoying the world, I take it?" Sven asked kindly over his bottle of tonic. The ointment on his lips was gleaming - peach and silver, mixed to create a daring sheen.
Colin tore his eyes away from the TV-window and focused on the shiny silver fighters flickering along the glass below his mug of coffee. The exotic kind, no less, from the Western Shore.
"I...tend to think of it little, compared to my studies."
Maria seemed to scoff at that. "Studies," she repeated. "A fool's choice of language. Your studies, dear Colin, are nothing more than the indoctrination of the children into the purist attitude of our society. Surely you know that."
She set down her own drink - pearly, crisp by just looking at it - and stooped down to trace her finger along the glass. The whiplash trouts, and the swimming clowns, all stopped to gaze at her with crystalline, nearly insect-esque eyes. Sven drank greedily from his bottle, and his tongue was almost gold when it flickered in and out of his mouth.
"The world," he mused, "is not on fire. It is underwater. Wet. Very wet. Like the water in this prism. Casting rainbows."
Colin's eyes flickered over to his cellphone. Luckily for him, it was still taking notes.
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
Sven and Maria's coffee table was in fact a glass cube filled with tropical fish. Their television set was in fact not a television set, but a window to the outside, which appeared terribly active for a Sunday evening. Colin was far too busy observing the antics of the Vinyls dancing and grinding to their boombox, perched on the hood of their SX-model Humdinger Van, and waiting for law enforcement to take its course.
"You are enjoying the world, I take it?" Sven asked kindly over his bottle of tonic. The ointment on his lips was gleaming - peach and silver, mixed to create a daring sheen.
Colin tore his eyes away from the TV-window and focused on the shiny silver fighters flickering along the glass below his mug of coffee. The exotic kind, no less, from the Western Shore.
"I...tend to think of it little, compared to my studies."
Maria seemed to scoff at that. "Studies," she repeated. "A fool's choice of language. Your studies, dear Colin, are nothing more than the indoctrination of the children into the purist attitude of our society. Surely you know that."
She set down her own drink - pearly, crisp by just looking at it - and stooped down to trace her finger along the glass. The whiplash trouts, and the swimming clowns, all stopped to gaze at her with crystalline, nearly insect-esque eyes. Sven drank greedily from his bottle, and his tongue was almost gold when it flickered in and out of his mouth.
"The world," he mused, "is not on fire. It is underwater. Wet. Very wet. Like the water in this prism. Casting rainbows."
Colin's eyes flickered over to his cellphone. Luckily for him, it was still taking notes.
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
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