THE COFFEE SHOP
Her name was Elsa. Delivered at the doorstep of a gleaming crystal building perched on a hill-top, by a car with no wheels, she stood there, gazing at the entrance board that read, “The Coffee Shop”.
She glided in, to be greeted by two bronze-red skinned men, who pointed her to the coffee counter. She followed. There were thirteen baristas behind the crystal counter, wearing grey overalls, much like the bronze-skinned men; much like the color of that place — the perfect grey, except for the people who filled the room. Their garments brought color to the monochromatic palette of the shop.
“Can I…”, before she could finish her order, a cup with “Elsa Williams” inscribed on it, was served. There was also a bird etched on the other side of it.
Half amazed, half curious, but mostly perplexed, she held the cup. It was warm, the only familiar feeling she felt in that place. It was a large hall, shaped like the frock of a big girl twirling, only upside down. Lounge chairs, straight back chairs, armchairs, rocking chairs and chesterfield chairs were neatly bleeding grey into the room. It was eerily quiet; nobody talked. Men and women, mostly silver-haired, sat, comfortably bewildered, drawing warmth from their coffees.
Elsa deposited herself on a lounge chair. She was a tall, brown eyed woman, with straight black hair falling up-to her shoulders. The wrinkles on her neck, and speckled grays in her hair, betrayed her age. She wore a tangerine sweater. Her eyes looked tired.
“Is it a client’s office? But why did I come here? “
She shuffled through her pockets only to find no cell phone.
“Am I dreaming?”
She pinched herself. It was not any dream. It was real. But except the coffee, nothing felt real.
She sipped the last from her cup, set it down, when the golden words appeared on the bottom. Her eyes wide and fixated, she waited for them to make sense. It read -
BENEVOLENCE BLEEDS WHITE, MALEVOLENCE BLACK
It did not make sense.
The cup twitched and turned, then burnt, leaving behind no trail, except the bird, which came to life, and flew. Elsa instinctively glided, following the bird.
“Is it a Vulture?”, she wondered, her head still set on those words.
They spiraled higher and higher, passing on their way, other birds, some familiar, some not so much; some with plumage as exquisite as the sunset over ocean, some with plumage as dead as a corpse’s; some birds sang melodies while others filled the air with melancholy; but all of them were followed by their lackeys to the many caves — more like glass tunnels branching out from the same room.
Elsa stood at the entrance of her tunnel, while the bird hovered. There was a board, which read-
CHECKS AND BALANCES AHEAD
She knew she had to enter- that was the only way. Upon entering, her garb turned grey — the grey of that place. The bird crackled and vanished. Now, it was solely her path to follow. She looked around — she could see the people in the tunnels abutting hers. Their clothes had also turned grey. She felt relieved, and started walking reluctantly.
A door appeared before her — it was an entrance to a room. The room was shaped like a maple leaf, but was as white as Monday’s washing. A woman with a calm face that gave away nothing, filled the room with her presence. The room was lined with abacuses, notebooks, quills, and bundles of papers neatly stacked. They looked categorized. She gave Elsa a paper and a quill. The emptiness of the parchment stared at her — it had only one sentence. She signed where it asked. Her robe turned a shade lighter. The woman smiled — slightly.
Elsa, knowing that her work there was done, glided out of the room through the abacus drapes into the tunnel. She noticed another man in the tunnel next to hers. There was nothing striking about his personality — he was a stout man with thin grey hair, but his robe was much whiter than hers; not bright white, but much whiter than hers.
The entrance to the second room was now before her. The heavy black iron door was ajar.
It was black — as black as the shadows on a starless night. It wasn’t scary, nor was it eerie, it was just pitch dark. There was no one. She dreaded another parchment. She had started to realize where she was; why couldn’t she recall anything; why it wasn’t her client’s office; why she had to ratify sparing-the-one-she-loved; the knots were untangling.
A bundle of papers landed in her hand, along with a quill. She had to acknowledge every page — all that read, was true. She could not lie, not this time. She inked her name on each paper, turning them ever so slow. There was no rush. She turned to see the stout man in the next tunnel. He held one, or a very few papers, she could not confirm. But he was done — as he signed his last or the only paper, nothing happened. Elsa was focused on the color of his robe — but it never turned. Something that eluded her sight, flashed at the man’s exit door. She quickly shifted to get it in her sight. The golden letters were fading as the man glided out -
YOU HAVE POSITIVE BALANCE. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. YOUR NEXT STOP — EARTH!
She had now understood. Hoping against hope, she inked her name on the last page — “Elsa Williams”. Her robe grew dark, and then darker, until she was inseparable from the room.
The exit door flashed red, and the letters arranged themselves to read -
YOU BALANCE IS NEGATIVE. IT IS YOUR TURN TO REPAY. YOUR NEXT STOP — EARTH!
A vulture captured her in his talons and took her away.
Her bird was a Vulture.