Eulalia's Notebook OOC Writing

A Sip of Yesterday for a Tolerable Tomorrow

The bell on the door-frame chimed softly as she walked into Coffee & Comfort Cafe, the wind behind her closing the door quickly. It was warm inside, much warmer than out. She shed her jacket, placing it on her arm before stamping her feet on the small ‘Welcome’ carpet, freeing her boots of snow.

As always, the room smelled of fresh pastries, coffee beans, and a hint of the cafe’s Lavender Chamomile tea, a staple of the popular cafe chain throughout the country. The sound of coffee trickling into mugs and delicate ceramic dishes being picked up and set down or taken off a stack behind the counter hit her ears, followed by the quiet chatter of other customers and the peaceful background music. The lights were dim, providing a relaxing atmosphere in the shop, soothing any anxiety of customers who wander in for a warm cup of coffee. It was strangely nostalgic.

After a moment, she made her way up to the counter, “Afternoon Angelina.” She greeted the woman.

“Ah! Lovely to see you Camellia!” Angelina exclaimed tenderly, pushing her glasses up on her nose with wrinkled hands. “How’s everything been for you?”

“I’ve been better.” She responded. “Does it ever get easier?”

The woman could see the pang of sadness that flashed through Camellia’s eyes, before sighing. “No.” she admitted, before changing the subject. “I’ll assume you’ll be ordering a croissant and the Lavender Chamomile tea?” she said, pressing a few buttons on the register.

The corners of Camellia’s lips twitched upward in a small smile, thankful that the woman changed the subject as she swiped her card on the reader. “I should’ve guessed that you’d know. Thank you.”

“No problem dear. I’ve been running this place long enough to know,” she said, handing her a metal stand with the card at the top labelled ‘73’. “Just be careful though. You don’t want all of him to slip away.” She said with a knowing glance.

Camellia ignored the look, taking the stand with delicate fingers before making her way to a simple two-person table against the window. She placed the metal stand in the middle of the table, right next to the small brown vase that held the usual dark, crimson-red rose, and draped her coat across the back of her chair before taking a seat.

She turned her head to the right, her blue eyes flicking around the room and observing the others. A woman and her son, a mug of steaming coffee and a blueberry muffin on their table, a longing look on their faces as they stared at some picture on a phone. A young man staring at a small box in his hands, his face void of emotion and a cup of the popular Lavender Chamomile tea empty beside him. Camellia wondered what could be inside the box. A teenage girl and her friend laughing softly as they scrolled through something on their phones, one picking up a napkin to dab at the water on her cheeks.

“Here you go Ma’am.” a voice said, breaking her stare around the room, the sound of two plates being set down on the table in front of her.

Camellia looked up at the server, “Thank you.” She said to the young man.
He smiled at her before taking the metal stand with the number ‘73’ on it and walking away.

She glanced out the window, watching a few people walk by the cafe before taking a deep breath and picking up the mug. Taking a sip of the tea, she was instantly relaxed, the familiar warm feeling spreading throughout her body. She took another sip, setting down her cup as the room began to get hazy.

Camellia’s stomach churned with anticipation as her motions grew sluggish and a headache began to develop. No one around her noticed as she absentmindedly picked up the tea and drank again, the room around her darkening before shifting.

Camellia suddenly found herself on a beach, a wave of nostalgia hitting her almost as strongly as the ones she saw hitting the shore.

“Hey Cammi! C’mon in! The water’s great!” She heard a voice yell.
She looked out towards the voice, seeing the grinning face of her, Connor. “Yeah… uh… just hold on a minute!” She called back.

She remembered this beach. This was the beach where Connor had proposed to her months and months ago. She saw the same two palm trees that the pink and white hammock she rested on were tied between. She saw the same rainbow painted lifeguard tower in the distance, a young woman in a red bathing suit looking out at the water. She saw the same two little kids— siblings, she had assumed—arguing over some sand toys nearby as they built a sandcastle. The sun glistened and sparkled on the clear blue water.

Camellia watched as she set down a book and took off her sundress, revealing a blue swimsuit underneath before making her way over to Connor in the water. She giggled as Conner rushed out of the sea, his brown hair sticking to his forehead and water droplets rolling down his skin as he picked her up before making his way back in the ocean.

“Connor, don’t you dare!” She warned, a smile on her face nonetheless. Her fiancé just grinned impishly, before dropping her in the water, a short scream leaving her lips before the water silenced it.

Camellia resurfaced soon after, the sound of Connor’s laughter echoing in her ears. “I can’t believe you!” She cried out in faux frustration and annoyance, slapping his arm.

“S-sorry!” he laughed, struggling to regain composure, “I just couldn’t help myself!”

“I can’t believe you.” a smile on her face betraying her little act.

“You know you love me.” He teased, pulling her in close.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Camellia admitted before closing her eyes and pressing her lips to his in a sweet kiss. God she couldn’t wait to marry this man.

She began to feel hazy again, but she was sure it was just her happiness and the kiss making her feel that way. Her fingers found Connor’s hand, gripping onto it tightly. Her headache came back, and she had the odd, yet familiar feeling that something had slipped away from her, the feeling of his hand disappearing.

When she opened her eyes from the kiss, the beach was gone, along with all the tea in her cup. The croissant lay untouched on the white ceramic plate. Camellia looked around the room, unsure of where she was. When she finally realized where she was, tears brewed in her eyes.

She wasn’t with Connor. She’d never be with Connor again. She longed for the times where she’d enjoy lazy mornings in bed with him or laugh about the stupidest things together or share loving kisses. She longed for the feeling of his hand in hers and the feeling of his lips and the joy he’d sparked in her life, the meaning it gave her.

Camellia stared at the crimson-red rose in front of her as her fingers went up to the ring on her necklace. She sat there for a while, deep in thought as customers came and drank their drink and ate their pastry before departing again, the conversation from before falling on deaf ears.

When she’d reached her house later that day, she glanced at the flowers on the front porch—pink camellias–before entering through the brown door and making her way to her room, a picture in the hallway catching her attention as she stopped.

It was a picture of her and the man before, Connor. The two stood in front of the iconic Eiffel Tower. It was night, the only light coming from the sparkling and glittering lights of the tower. A bright smile was on her face as the man kissed her cheek, their hands laced together. They seemed to be in their own world, not even realizing that their picture had been taken.

Camellia wondered what had made her stop at the picture. She had loads of old photos of her and Connor up on the wall. It took her another minute of thought to realize why it caught her attention, and it only caused more confusion in her.

She couldn’t ever recall a time that she’d been to Paris.

Writers Note/Explanations:

Reducio

The whole idea behind this short story was a Micro fiction assignment based on Magical Realism. For those unaware, magical realism is a genre where a magical aspect is inserted into a typical and realistic society. In this case, I attempted to integrate the magic part into the Coffee shop. Ideally, Camellia is a woman mourning the loss of her fiancé, so she frequently goes to the Café. The drinks at the cafe allow for one to go back to a memory and relive it, though the price for doing so is the removal of a separate memory. Camellia longs for the love of her life, often abusing the drinks ability. The catch about the abuse? The more and more one drinks the drink, the larger a memory taken away, hence why she had no recollection of Paris with Connor and why Angelina warns her in the beginning. Additionally, the flowers outside of her home (pink camellias) and her name symbolize her longing, while the dark, crimson-red rose on the table symbolizes her mourning. Did you catch the ideas and symbolism when you read it the first time? Owl me if there's any feedback!

The Unlikely Event of Survival

It’d felt like it had been years down here in the bunker, avoiding the catastrophic war that had been raging above. No one’s heard booms for what we think has been three days. I think it’s over, that everyone above is dead, but I can’t be too sure. No one can. The silence from above was almost as terrifying as the never-ending noise we’d been hearing before.

When the order had first come in to evacuate to the nearest bunker before midnight hit, the world was put in a frenzy. All rational flew out the window. People looted stores and raided homes, fighting and killing for desperately needed supplies that would last. People raced to the bunkers, attempting to get a spot in one before it was sealed.

The day before the bunkers were sealed, all communications had been knocked out by the first airstrike. The power was next. The only supplies we have are whatever anyone had brought down with them before the bunker had been shut, reaching its capacity.

I remember the pleading, the screams of those left on the surface to die so loud they were heard through the thick metal walls of the bunker. We heard a loud boom and then nothing. Silence. It was obvious what had happened, but no one really wanted to believe it.

No one wanted to believe that the world had gone to war, ravaging the surface of the planet, leaving nothing spared. Cities, towns, homes, families. Lives. If I wasn’t sure we were going to die then, I was now.

“Val? How are we on supplies?” I heard a voice ask. It was Alex. He’d slipped into the bunker with me moments before it had been sealed. His parents had died earlier that day during a raid.

I sigh, “We’ll be okay.”

“I heard Marcus saying the water was running low. And Emma said she’d rationed away the last of her canned food.”

“We’ll be okay,” I repeated, sounding like I was trying to convince myself more than him.

“Will we?” he questioned timidly, unsure of what was to come.

I nod, words failing me. I wanted to desperately tell Alex that everything would be okay. But I didn’t know. No one did.

Alex wasn’t the only one who’d heard about the whispers that supplies were running low. When there were 300 people bound to one place, word spread fast. Realistically, if the water reserve was running low, and the food, everyone down here was bound to die in the next two weeks, give or take. I heard a cough in the distance, then the sound of something falling.

What was the point of escaping the bombs to avoid an imminent death on the surface, only to die a few weeks later? It made me wish I hadn’t escaped the bombs at all. In the unlikely event of my survival, of anyone’s survival, what was left for us on the surface anyway?

“Val?” Alex spoke again. “You're doing it again. I don’t like it when you do that?”

“Hmm?” I hummed in question, snapping out of my thoughts and meeting his brown eyes.

“Your zone outs. Your face goes blank and your eyes stare into nothing and you just shut down. I don’t like it. It freaks me out.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“No.”

“I said I think we should go up.”

My blue eyes widened in shock, a terrified look coming across my face. “Alex. That’s… that’s insane.” I shook my head, pulling the boy to sit next to me. “We don’t know if it’s safe. We don’t know what it’s like. That place up there… that’s not our home anymore. What if it’s worse than we think it is?”

“But you heard Marcus and Emma! We’re running thin on everything! Plus, a little girl on the south side caught something. If we don’t die of hunger or thirst, we for sure will die of whatever that girl has.”

I sighed. First an apocalyptic war, now a lack of supplies, and finally an illness? I covered my face with my hands. Whatever god—if there even was one—that had been watching over us clearly didn't want us alive anymore.

I smiled at him sadly. “I miss the wide-eyed, innocent, little boy who didn’t have a care in the world and wanted me to play airplanes with him when I’d babysit you.” I say, reminiscing for a moment, watching as Alex clenched his fists. I knew he didn’t like reminders of the past anymore. I reached for his hand, grasping it in my own and unclenching his fist. The war made him grow up too fast, and now, we were all each other had left.

“I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m 16, Val. I’ve been through too much to be a child anymore. I’ve realized that if I ever want to live a life after this, I have to do something. I don’t want to die.”

“Even if we did go up, who’s to say you’d be able to have a future up there anyways?” I watched as his hope deflated like a balloon. My balloon had deflated long ago. I breathe in before blowing a breath out. I tuck a piece of my brown hair behind my ear. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll talk to Marcus in the morning, see what I can do. How’s that sound?”

Alex lets go of my hand to engulf me in a hug. I wrap my own arms around him. “Thank you, Valerie.” he says, his words muffled.

I sigh. “Of course buddy.”

If living on the surface was possible—if rebuilding was even possible—I’d make sure it’d happen. Not for myself—no, I didn’t deserve it. What right did I have to survive when there were so many others who didn’t? But Alex, Alex was still young. He still had a whole life ahead of him. If giving him a future meant leaving the only place I knew we were safe, then I’d do it. I’d risk everything for this boy to have a chance at a life outside of this depressing bunker.