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Rated: E · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2228834
A woman who lost coffee
         Sandra turned the T.V. off, the hot mug of coffee clutched firmly in her hands.
         'What is this world coming to? No coffee!'
         Her mind was on autopilot as she stood and started to pace the room.
         What would she do in the mornings? It was her ritual. Wake up, pour coffee, drink coffee. Any other way would just not do.
         Canvasing the room, she didn't see anyone else. What was her mother thinking? Her brother? He was a cop for goodness sake! What would he drink with his donuts?
         There was one table in the middle of the rather small waiting room she was placed only fifteen short minutes ago. It took a three minute news story to completely change her life. She thought about what else she could drink. Red Bull? no. She ticked it off an imaginary checklist. Monster? Oh gracious no, apparently that stuff was consumed by Devil worshipers. What about Rockstar? The question was, would it be good warm, on a cold winter's day? Most likely not.
         This was terrible. Sandra went to sit her mug on the table before quickly pulling it away.
         What if this was her last cup? She started pacing again. This wasn't right. Someone out there had to be wrong. There would be another news story soon that would clarify everything.
         Finally, she sat down. Her stomach started to churn. Of course it was. She was drinking now lukewarm coffee. The next sip felt like death as it drained down her throat. She wanted to spit it out but didnt dare. What if the disease was already in the coffee? What if she was poisoning herself?
         The overhead light flickered. She should leave. It was eerily quiet and therefore, creepy. She didn't move. Another sip down the hatch. Her stomach protested and her need to go to the restroom intensified.
         The man told her to stay in this room. She wasn't supposed to leave. Who was the man anyway? She searched her memory for a name to put with the face. Surly he told her his name. Doctor Thomas? Nurse Thomas? Perhaps it wasn't Thomas at all. Was this because of the outbreak? Maybe they were trying to keep her safe.
         Or maybe she was a test subject.
         The mug dropped to the floor. In her mind she heard it sizzle as it spilled, corroding the laminate flooring.
         Running to the lone door on the far side of the room, she grabbed the handle and turned. To her relief it opened and Sandra ran down the hall to the front doors of the well manicured doctors office and out into the sunshine.
         Back in the waiting room someone turned on a light, illuminating two college age males behind a two-way mirror. They stood, stunned at the reaction their test had generated.
         "I think it's time to invest in coffee."
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