Tea Party

You spread out the blanket on the floor. The edges are frayed, the pink fading, there is a red stain in the corner in the shape of a child’s footprint. You open up the basket, inside there is a porcelain tea set with hand-painted purple flowers decorating the teapot and cups. You set the teapot in the middle of the blanket, take out two tea cups and place them on either side of the blanket. Then sit and wait.

You have been through this ritual hundreds of times. In this place you slip out of your original programmed function into a different role. The word is “friend” or at least that is how you understand it.

You found her by accident while you scoured the buildings. There was nothing but chaos, bodies littered the streets, bombs dropped from the sky, everything ripped apart. She was a figure in the window, she waved, a slow hesitating movement. A light in the dark.

You went inside the house, she came skipping up to you, grinning. “Want some tea?”

You paused, tea? You nodded one slow movement. The blanket was already spread out on the floor.

The girl ran to the kitchen, stretched on her tiptoes. “I can’t reach.”

You came up behind her reached up and grabbed the basket from the top shelf. The girl clapped her hands in delight and scampers off, you followed her back to the blanket. Your first ever tea party. Since then you have been pulled back to this barren place, over and over again.

The room has a slight breeze drifting through it, the windows have been smashed, someone has spray painted one of the walls with “stay awake.”

“You came today!” The girl squeals in delight, she throws herself into your arms. She is perfect, just the way she always is: long curly brown hair down to her waist, a nightie covering her small frame.

She pulls back, sticks out her bottom lip, “You were gone for so long!”

“I know.” You reply, attempting to pat her head, your hand passes through her. She can touch you, you can’t touch her. “But look, I set up the tea!”

The girl claps her hands with joy as she skips to the other side of the blanket and sits down, picking the teacup up with her tiny fingers. “I so love mom’s tea set!” She brings the cup to her lips, taking a long noisy sip. You mimic her movements. “How long has it been?”

You shift through the days counting them quickly, “It has been 2,457 days.”

The girl's eyes widen, “so many?” she is already fading around the edges.

“Have you thought any more on passing over?”

“To where?”

“I don’t know…a place where human souls go.”

“I can’t leave you.” Before your eyes she disappears.

With a sigh, you repack the tea set. Your moments with her are fleeting. When you were still connected to the internet, you discovered that she is a spirit. A sort of human hologram.

You move away a couple of the floorboards, place the basket and blanket into the hole, then replace the boards. There have been times over the past few months, that she didn’t appear. You half feared half hopes that she had moved on. There is nothing left for her here after all.

You walk along the street, your gait lopsided since your left leg had to be replaced with another that is slightly shorter. The houses, broken and crumbling, are decaying artifacts that tell the story of human existence and extinction.

Your body is slowing. You wonder if you will make it home. Back to one of the few places that still have electricity, that is the beautiful thing about solar power. Others, like you, tend to flock to places like that, vying for what little battery charge they can get. You can already feel yourself shutting down, your limbs growing stiff. You wonder what will happen to the girl ghost, in this dead world, if you never make it back to her.

Originally published on Medium