Monday Flash Fiction, vol. 1
The Round Table
I was sitting in a cafe in a corner of a crooked hidden street where there was a stairway up to the cathedral, thinking. I could hear the merchants selling oranges and kids laughing and peeling them. But there were no merchants neither kids around. I was having lunch with my friends. Cheese, bread, butter and wine. There were vines hugging the walls, climbing higher and higher, but then they got burnt by the midday sun and they melted. Green wax was dripping on my bread and in my wine and on my cheese and I noticed that my table was round, whereas the other ones were squared. I looked at my friend sitting right in front of me and for just an instant I felt blissful. But as soon as I fell in, I fell out, and at that exact moment I was just sitting in a cafe again, thinking.