Red Winged Black Bird on a fence post in a field.

Coffee and Snow


Category: prose

With the dim, winter light that drifted through the broken window with the snow, Deke Lawrence saw the old sack of coffee beans. His frozen hands longed to hold a hot cup of coffee.

He scooped a handful of the beans out of the rotting sack and carefully piled them on the planks of the old table. Glancing around and finding nothing else to use, he drew his pistol and used it to crack the beans. He would have used the portable, electric coffee grinder, but the abandoned cabin was in the mountains in 1887 and there weren?t any such things.

He dug his tin cup out of his pack and brushed the cracked beans into it. His cold fingers shook as he fished a splinter of table from the cup. He walked to the window and reached out to scoop some of the snow drift into the cup.

A stone circle sat in the middle of the cabin floor. Snow fell through the smoke hole in the roof to dust the circle. A good kick reduced the old table to kindling. The last store-bought match started the fire.

The fellow sat on the floor and warmed himself with the fire and the coffee running down to his belly.

Comments (5)
You gotta pick the right guy to do the job.
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What would you do with a personality if you had one?