Steemit Story Slam Challenge 1: ☕Grey Cappuccino✍️

---

---

Hey Steemers,

Today i have a interesting inspirational story for you all , This is my first entry for Steemit story slam challenge , I hope you all will like reading it 👍

Thanks to @prufarchy for hosting this Contest

---

---

☕Grey Cappuccino✍️(An Original Story)

---

"How old would you say I am?" Andrew pivoted on his stool to see a dark-haired woman looking directly at him. She was sipping a cappuccino. The ringing of the door-chime during the woman's entrance had not diverted his attention. Even if he had not been so engrossed in his book, he would not have noticed her sit down beside him. The coffee shop was empty, except for a worker and the two customers. Andrew did not know this woman, and was considering simply ignoring her when she asked again, "Well, how old do you think I am?"
"Thirty?" "I'm forty-two." "Oh." The woman seemed satisfied knowing that she looked younger than she actually was. Andrew wondered why she would ask such a question to a stranger, but wasn't going to think too deeply on the subject. People are strange. He turned back to his book, and hoped that the woman would not want to talk anymore, but she did. "What are you reading?" "Girlfriend in a Coma." "What is it about? Is it good?"
Andrew thought about how amazing it is that people can be so overwhelmingly annoying and not even notice it. He placed the book down, and without looking at the woman said, "Too much to explain, and yes it is very good."
"I've got lots of time. Tell me, what is it about?" Andrew tried his best to remain civilized. He is not a rude man, but she was trying his patience. Slowly, and sternly he said, "I do not have time. If you have so much time, for Christ's sake, then go buy the book, and read it." Then he picked up his book, and began to read once again.
Almost immediately he felt guilty, and he had to apologize. He had been too rude, she had not deserved to be spoken to in that tone. He turned to apologize, but she was not there. The door-chime rang out, and he heard it clearly this time. The door closed behind her. It was not too late to say that he was sorry. He leapt over a chair, and threw the door open. She was standing on the corner, waiting to cross the street. He thought that he would simply tap her on the shoulder, but then she began to quickly scurry across. "Miss, wait," he said. She did not react, so he called louder, "Miss, wait!" Why couldn't he just let her go? Was it that important that he apologize to this stranger? He did not even know her name. She heard him the second time, stopped and turned around. She looked directly into his eyes. It almost knocked him over, her eyes were beautiful. She was beautiful. She began to open her mouth, she was going to ask what he wanted. She never got the chance. Their eyes had locked only for a brief moment, then there was a loud screeching noise. It penetrated the night air with such raw power. Then it stopped. A couple seconds later there was another screeching sound, different from the first. A grey blur shot around the corner, and quickly out of sight. Andrew screamed at nothing, and fell to his knees. He could see through his teary eyes the deformed body of a person he had talked to but he had not known. He looked up to see the coffee shop employee standing beside him. The teenage employee stood there with his hand over his mouth, looking at Andrew, wanting to ask Andrew what happened. The teenager then ran to check for life in the mangled body, but there was none. Then he ran inside to phone for an ambulance. Andrew still knelt on the sidewalk, shaking, and crying. The police officers talked to Andrew for a long time. They kept asking, "What about the car? Make? Model? Description? License Plate?" All Andrew could tell them was that it was grey. He did not tell them about how rude he had been, or that he had called to her while she was in the middle of the street. He did not tell them anything, except that the car was grey. Eventually the officers escorted him home. His book was left at the coffee shop, and it would stay there, because Andrew never wanted to go back.

xXimage sourceXx

Andrew is beginning his twenties. Last year he dropped out of college, and he has been in and out of low-paying, full and part time jobs since he was seventeen. He moved out of his house when he was nineteen. Back then he had romantic ideas of life a nice bachelor pad, going to clubs, partying all the time, and meeting gorgeous women. Now he has nearly given up on those dreams. Now he would settle for any dinner consisting of more than his usual grilled-cheese sandwich. He managed to find a low-rent place to stay, but it is hardly liveable. Whatever money that is not taken by his rent is consumed by his car, and food. The refrigerator was almost always empty, except for the occasional carton of milk and some eggs. His couch, which doubled as his bed due to the cramped area, was torn and stained. Andrew did not live the good life. Any spare change he managed to dig up was spent down at the coffee shop. Although he probably will not go there anymore. Two weeks ago Andrew lost his job, and the rent was due five days ago. Soon he will not have a place to stay. There seems to be no job prospects in his immediate future, so he will probably live in his car for a while. Needless to say, Andrew has been drinking fairly heavily lately. Six months ago Andrew got into drugs. Marijuana at first, but soon he was experimenting with other things. He tried everything, but he knew enough never to try them again. The bottle became his drug of choice. Even when he could not afford to eat food, he managed to buy a bottle of something. He loved Whisky. You could see the darkness that the bottle had caused in and around his eyes like two permanent black-eyes.

xXimage sourceXx

A week has past and he has not left his apartment. He showered yesterday for the first time. He has trouble keeping any food down, but he rarely eats anything, so it is not a huge problem. The smell of cappuccino makes him want to vomit. He has vowed never to drive a car again, and will put his car up for sale as soon as he can. Over and over again all day long, he is troubled by the same thought, "Andrew, it was your fault." He tries to convince himself that it was destiny, that she was meant to die there regardless of his actions, but he made her leave the coffee shop so quickly, he made her stop in the street. He thinks he killed her. He now hates the colour grey, but unfortunately, everything in his life seems grey right now. He sleeps more than he used to. Naps plagued by nightmares. His happier dreams are when the car hits him instead of her. Usually his nightmares consist of the same visions accurate replications of the horrible event. He is dreaming now, of something different, but she is still there. She is standing on the edge of a cliff, and he is a few feet behind her. The sky is dark, and it is raining. They are both dry. She waves him to the edge, she wants him to stand beside her. Before she has a chance to speak, he says, "I'm sorry." "For what?" "For being so rude. For making you stop in the street. I killed you." "No. It is not your fault. Death is not as terrible as we think. I am happy here. I am always young here." "Where is 'here'?"
"You'll see, one day." "What is your name?" "I can not tell you, it's against the rules." There is a moment of silence, but it is not awkward like it would be in real life. Andrew looks down, his toes hang slightly over the edge, but he is not afraid. It must be one hundred feet of the ground. The ground is darker than the sky, it is hard to tell if it is there at all, but Andrew can feel it. Andrew's curiosity finally overwhelms him, "Where are we?" "Your parents conceived you on this cliff. They made love in the bushes. You were made here." "Oh," he knows that his reaction sounded foolish. "Why are we here?" "We will get to that shortly. Tell me Andrew, why did you run after me that night?" He had not thought about that. He could remember how beautiful her eyes were, but he noticed that after he left the coffee shop. He remembered feeling terrible about how he had acted, but was that enough to send him charging out of the shop? "I don't know." "Yes you do." "Wait, how do you know my name?" "You tell me." Andrew was frustrated with her again, "I don't know!" She was calm, "Fine. Let me tell you. Andrew, I know your name because I named you. I am your mother." "What? How can that be. You died when I was six."
"No, I died a week ago. Your father lied to you." Andrew did not want to believe it. Why would his father lie? This lady must be crazy. Andrew was upset, "You are lying. Prove that you are my mother." "Your father and I divorced when you were four. Your father won full custody. I was upset, I did not know how to react. I moved to Ontario. After a while I was afraid to contact you, until last week. If you still do not believe me, then tell me, when was your mother born?" "1957." "Which would make her?" "Forty-two. You are forty-two. You were forty-two." "Do you see the connection now? Andrew, look into my eyes. What do you notice?" "They are beautiful," he paused, finally noticing what had somehow avoided him, "They look like mine. We have the same eyes. That's why they stood out so much." "Yes Andrew. We have the same ears too. And you have a birthmark on your left calf that is shaped like British Columbia." "Yes, you are right. I believe you now, mom." He could not remember ever calling anyone his mom. It felt good to finally say it. Even if he was saying it to a ghost. He wondered, was she a ghost? A figment of his imagination? An angel? What was she really? He gathered his thoughts for a moment. "So, why are we up here?" "Oh yes. Back to that. It was not your fault that I died that night. It had to happen. That is the way it was supposed to happen. I have had to deal with that, and you have to deal with it as well. You need to stop what you were doing, and make the most out of the life you have. I know that it sounds cliché, but I don't want you to make the mistake that I made. Don't run away from your life, don't hide. That is why I died, I know that now. I died so that you could learn to cherish your life." "That is kind of a harsh lesson don't you think?" "It is, but I don't decide how the lessons are taught." "God?" "Maybe. I don't know about all that yet." "I thought that you found out about all that stuff when you die." "Well, I haven't yet. Anyway, you'll see. Right now I need you to promise me that you will not hide anymore." "I promise."
"That's not enough. You have to promise me with action." She looked down to her feet, they were not touching the ground. She was hovering there. She floated out into the air, past the edge of the cliff. Then she turned and faced Andrew. He was not afraid. He knew what he had to do before she waved him out. He leapt.

xXimage sourceXx
For a split-second he thought that he was hovering, then he began to plummet. He did not scream as he fell ferociously towards the ground. He had to show that he meant his promise, that he trusted his mother, and that he was prepared to face any of life's obstacles. He turned himself over, and faced his mother. She was watching him, and smiling. They looked into each other's eyes one last time, and then he woke up. Andrew quickly showered and shaved. Rushed to get his clothes on, and ran down three floors of stairs. He climbed into his car, and without hesitation, he turned the key. He drove down the road to the little, not too well-known coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino, and smiled. The teenager behind the counter brought Andrew his book. "Thank you for keeping it here." "You're welcome. Can I get you anything." "No thanks. I have to go."