A cup of coffee

It was a strange dream.
She has never seen such a dream in her life.
A hot cup of coffee, fuming.
She found it difficult to drink, with fear of burning her soft lips.
Yet she took the white porcelain cup, putting index finger through the narrow hole.
To her surprise, she felt it cold. The cup did not convey the heated emotions of the fuming liquid inside.
‘How can the cup be cold?’
The cup trembled at the tip of her fingers, challenging the postulates of physical science.
‘This is against the laws of thermodynamics’.
It reminded her of the handsome physics teacher at the school classes who always boiled Newton’s laws inside his beautiful baldness.
‘Why should a cup of coffee drag me to my old lessons, I do not want to be a Newton’
But she felt the gravitational pull of her memories, from deep inside her head.
‘Atoms are active at nascent state’.
She thought about the science laboratory where nascent passions evaporated at the dark corners, then she was a collegegirl.
She lifted the cup up to her mouth. The coffee smelled different. It smelled like sulphur fumes, a habitual inhalation of the city life.
Felt like gasping, yes she was really gasping.
She was still holding the cup; and felt the narrow hole gently turning slippery, as if oil has spilled over it. She found it hard to balance it with her finger. It tilted around her finger, fell down and broke splashing the fuming liquid around.
‘Oh!’

She knew that she was no longer dreaming.
But she refused to open her eyes for she did not want to forget the soothing trance of the violet dream. She gently rubbed her slippery fingers on the woollen blanket and curved like a prawn waiting for another dream.

Acid rain

Sania was in the middle of a garden with plenty of white roses.
"Beautiful, but why don't they keep red ones?"
She looked for the gardener, and he found an old man in wet clothes, but fumes came from his wet coat as if he is boiling. He appeared grey with piercing looks, but had a soft voice.
"Don't you have red roses?"
"Yes, they are"
"Can't you see they are white"
"They were red yesterday, they turned white after the rains."
"After the rains" she exclaimed.
While they talked rain drops fell on her face,lips hands and all over her body with more and more strength. She felt like fuming, she ran through the pavements to get out of the place, but she lost her way.
Sania got up gasping to to see the fainted rose on her flower vase.
She once again buried her body deep into the cosiness of the velvetblanket.

Maria

Maria.
The face you often see on the pavements, lanes down the street, the market place, church, beach and where ever you go. She wept often, but has never told anyone why she cried.
Maria would go away from the crowd, sit for long hours weep and rub her sorrows on her moist handkerchief.
One day I asked her 'Maria, why do you cry'?
Her reply condensed in an impassionate look; as if feared she asked me;
"How do you know my name"?
'I don't know your name, but I just called you Maria'
"Why?"
'I don't know, when I saw you, I just felt like calling you by that name'
"Still...why do you want to call me?", she broke into tears as if I had committed a grave mistake. For a moment I was perplexed, I sat near her and felt her.
She turned almost pale, and never stopped her tears. It went down down her cheeks and chilled her entire body, slowly I felt her entire weight on my arms. She smelled of sweat and tears. I felt that she has slipped into an unconscious sleep. I felt the real dillemma, but before I recollect anything I heard a braking sound and the loud voice of a man shouting.
"Lunatic! what are you doing at the middle of the road."
'Cant' you see this young girl'
"Young girl! what nonsense are you talking?
'Nonsense!' I turned to Maria with compassion.
But I saw out of surprise a marigold in my hand; Maria had already vanished from my senses.
I jumped to the other side to make way for the motor car.