Ceremonial

	Ted shambled his lifeless body into the kitchen, an empty cup mourning its lack of liquid with a visible stain. Reflexively he clicked the kettle; he retrieved milk, excavated a teabag from its urn, but not a fresh cup. The kettle finished its earthy rumble; gently he poured, setting it back down with a lifeless thud. 

	After brewing for precisely sixty seconds, Ted swirled the rich amber liquid. With twelve rotations complete, it was time to shovel sugar; the milk waited for the spoon’s sixteenth circuit before joining the elixir. 

	Twenty-seven rhythmic clinks passed, marking the precision of the task. He scooped, and bearing the tea bag he turned, deftly burying it in the trash with a practiced flick, discarding the spoon behind with a casual clatter. Ted raised the cup of tea, a procession of steamy wisps in its wake promising life, and took his first sip. He groaned hymn-like as it cleansed his soul. Ted slumped to the wall behind, knocking his calendar to the side. In the corner of his eye he saw a familiar red circle sway—he’d forgotten Jeremy’s funeral. Ted knew he could never make this up to Carlos. 
	
	His phone buzzed.
	A picture. 
	A coffin resting on untouched lush grass, encircled by mourners. 

	His phone buzzed.
	A solitary angry emoji. 

	It was clear to Ted now—being a grave digger was not for him.

#

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Thanks for reading, see you in the next project 🙂

_{Photo by Jorge Dominguez on Unsplash}