Acrid chocolate tones wafting from the cracked silver pot, she smiles wicked in her blue mirror top,
Before rushing back, a riot of fabric in a carpet lined nook, to slink towards me with the golden dish and enamel spout
Spirey towers of frankincense recalling long slumbering memory rub sweet and amber down the gullet
Tip to lip, the small cup, the dark nectar, sweet and smooth, enriches the palatte
Coffee, Ethiopia, for a period, as the righteous rain hammers down the window.
About the Creator
Saul Boyer
Saul Boyer is an award-winning writer and performer and the director of Unleash The Llama Productions. Alongside TV scripts ‘The Liar,' 'Stiffkey', 'Larping', 'Sovdepia' and ’Namaste Notting Hill’, Saul is developing a one-man theare show.
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King Farouk's Barn.
The bird, rushing about like a mad golfer in gelatinous plus-fours, was spraying the barn with crimson arcs. Its head, severed by my uncle, witnessed its body’s desertion like a fearsome guardian spirit, the spark of life dying in its eyes. My infant brain could hardly take this in. My screams were rather compounded when Francois began chasing the poor headless carcass with his cleaver. My world imploded. I decided then and there that I would create my own society, of which I was lord and sovereign, its realm, geographically spread to my ten toes in the south, five fingers east and west and the fuzzy headlands in the north of my brown curly crown.
By Saul Boyer5 years ago in Fiction
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