Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24982950-20180214155616

I'm not happy that the following story is finished, I think it needs more build-up or depth, perhaps. I would appreciate any feedback given.

My kettle made a low rumbling noise from the kitchen, and I listened for the dull click that would let me know it had boiled. I'd already placed a cup next to it in preparation for this late-night brew-up of the only hot drink I like: green tea.

Now I don't drink green tea to pretend I'm Oriental or some kind of health guru; I just prefer it to regular tea. The comfort of a warm drink just adds something to my routine, I suppose, certainly in these hours when I just coast about the house before taking myself off to get some sleep. Caffeine wouldn't help me with what I was doing anyway: idly leafing through holiday brochures is not something I'd likely need to be fully awake for. At last, the click.

Entering the kitchen, I picked up the kettle and poured till the cup was nearly full of the steaming liquid, the teabag floating to the top.

"Boiling, not boiled," I muttered to myself, "and stew for two minutes." It was a cheap hobby, at least; no need for milk or sugar or anything added but hot H2O. But what to do for those two minutes? I could stand in the darkened kitchen, listening to the house as it settled, the night-time drop in temperature causing various parts to creak and crack, with the occasional light thud. Maybe I could try to decipher the whisper of the wind outside, as it breathed around my home, gently prying, trying to get in. Perhaps I could try to absorb the ambiance of the night in my solitude, occasionally lit by the flash of the microwave's digital clock. Or I could do something more constructive.

With this in mind, I went to check if the back door was locked. It wasn't, but a swift turn of the key solved that problem. Allowing myself a slight smile and a nod, I walked to the front door, which by contrast was already locked. It really was quiet at this time at night, only the occasional engine or siren breaking the relative silence. I checked all my keys were in the right place on their hooks, and that my coat was hanging ready for the morning. They were. Go me.

Happy two minutes had been spent, I returned to the still steaming mug of green fluid, armed with a small spoon to fish the bag out. I winced in pain as some tea splashed on my hand. I'd had worse, but it did remind me that I needed to leave the cup yet a little longer, lest my tongue feel like sandpaper the next day. I thought of what else needed doing before I relaxed back into my routine of reading till my eyes and mind were tired enough to sleep. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. Bathroom, I decided.

Halfway up the stairs I paused. A memory from my childhood had surfaced, one of me trying to pick my little brother. I was at the top of the stairs in our family home, and I'd moved backwards as I took his weight, my foot going over the edge of the top step and my brother and I slid down the whole flight as a result. I remember crying, but neither of us had been hurt, he had me to break his fall, and I just got lucky I guess. Strange thing, luck. Even stranger how the mind could wander when you were only half paying attention. Had I been paying more attention, I might have noticed the faint dripping noise coming from the kitchen.

After answering nature's call, I finally retrieved the long-awaited beverage, and carefully carried it into my living room. Taking a sip as I settled down into my favourite chair, I frowned as a door creaked somewhere in the house. I must have left a window open, but I couldn't for the life of me remember which. I decided it wouldn't matter too much; if the door disturbed me I'd shut it. Simple enough. I began to read again as I drank.

I was tiring quickly, I realised, as scanned the same sentence without actually taking notice for the third time. I looked up and stared at the pattern on the wall across from me, a shadow cast from the glass crystals of the lamp in the corner of the room. The shadows started twisting, spinning, but as I tried to focus on their weird dance I found that it was my head was spinning! Overcome with the dizziness I lurched forward, spilling both myself and my green tea onto the carpet. I went to cry out but my voice was slurred, barely a moan escaping. There came a triumphant laugh and the sound of someone running to the living room from within the house. In horror, I stared at the mug rolling on the floor as I failed to get up, one word stupidly rolling around inside my head: drugged.

The last thing I saw before passing out was the manic grin on the face of the woman who'd now entered the room and was heading straight for me.

  