Peppermint Orange

First update in about two months. Epic fail. x.x

'Peppermint Orange' is a piece of original fiction I did when I was in Year 10, and submitted for coursework. I got full marks for it. Happiness was created. And even now, after lots of fanfiction stories and countless chapters published online, Peppermint Orange was the first that felt like it was 'mine', truly and fully. It felt complete to me, and to this day I cherish this piece.

Maybe one day I'll get a fictionpress or something and put it up. But for now, up in my sweet little blog it goes. It's not a sad story, no - it's a fulfilling one. I'd like to think so. Clicky below for story.


The soft click of the electric kettle shakes me out of my train of thoughts.

The water's boiled. I get up with a reluctant sigh - I don't feel like doing anything today, not in this rain, not in this noise. I can't even go to the conservatory outside; the sound of rain on its thick fiberglass roof is deafening. You can't hear yourself think there. Plus, the conservatory's made almost entirely of glass, so every single miserable raindrop that falls from the heavens above can trickle down the window panes and make you feel like you're trapped within water. Not the nicest feeling - especially if you're me. I can't swim.

The steam from the kettle floats up and condenses beneath the cupboards on the wall, the water dripping back down to the countertop. I wipe the lukewarm drops off the counter with a towel, and then pick up the silver kettle with a grimace - dear God, that feels hot - and then pour the water into the awaiting mug. When that's been done, I put down the kettle again; a warm, delicious, spicy scent wafts up from the cup. There really is nothing like a nice, hot cup of tea on a rainy day, my mother used to say. And I think she’s right.

"Biscuits, anyone?" I talk aloud, lifting the red tartan shortbread tin lid that I use to store biscuits. And I'm not crazy. I'm really not. I've grown up without any siblings, so I've grown accustomed to talking to myself for company. That was what I started to do when I was five. Even now, when I'm a lot more older and more sensible than a five-year old, I'm still living alone in this house, and I just can't break that habit. But back to the biscuits - or the lack thereof, because there actually isn't any left. I must have eaten a lot more in the past week than I thought. "No? Fine, then..."

I walk out of the kitchen after checking that the kettle really is switched off - can't be too careful nowadays - and then sit down on the little table nearby. I live alone and I don't have people around often, so I don't need a huge table to set out my dishes and eat on. And it's right next to the large window overlooking my garden - my overgrown jungle of a garden - so I can clear my thoughts and sip my tea amongst the soft patter of rain outside.

My cup of tea's the same as usual. It's my special blend - peppermint orange - with no teaspoonfuls of sugar at all. I make it with orange peel extract and sprigs of peppermint. And maybe it's because I don't add any other sweeteners, but for some reason this tea becomes bitter over time. It's not a strong tea. In fact it's a mild one, but it's bitter. I'd prefer it a little sweeter, but I rather think that sugar would ruin the delicate balance of citrus in the brew. I'd hate that, so I endure the bitterness and instead savour the undertones of the taste. In a way, drinking my peppermint orange brew is like living life in general; ignore all the hardships, pretend that the bitter and sad points in your life doesn't exist, and try to enjoy what little happiness you can find.

I'm getting philosophical over tea. Maybe I should just think about something else.

I sip the brew and let the taste linger on my tongue. It's still bitter. But there's a certain quality in there, one I can't exactly pinpoint, that reminds me of citrus and candied peel; that's probably why I drink it. There's nothing like that taste. My friends don't like it; they prefer apple or milk tea - what a boring lot! Does that make me a connoisseur, then? Because I like something that they don't because of my own reasons?

I don't even know anymore. How brilliant.

My mobile rings. I glance over, putting the cup down with a clink and picking the little device up. I press the 'Call' button and hold it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, sweetie!" An unusually bright, cheerful voice squeaks from the phone. I momentarily wince, not knowing who's called - but then it clicks. Of course. She told me that she'd call. It's probably either for a hen night, or a cafe meeting, whatever.

"Eileen... what do you want..."

"Oh, lighten up a bit, Tessa." The voice, sounding sulky, replies. "It's raining. And I figured that all my friends are depressed beyond belief - so how about a girls' night out at that bar? You know, the new one downtown?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, how about it? I'll buy. You don't have any lectures to attend at the university tomorrow!"

I sigh. "We went through this before, Eileen. No more than one girls' night out in one week. You want to have one too often." I pause, and (attempt to) deliver my reply as gently as possible. "Sorry. My answer is no. Besides, Professor Levy wants me to come in tomorrow. Wants me to sort out student papers for the term... and you know how long that takes, and how tiresome it gets..." White lie. It's true that Professor Levy wants me to come in tomorrow, but it's not for sorting out papers. It's for a quick chat about my progress in the university so far, and it won't even last half an hour.

There is deafening silence on the line.

For a brief moment I wonder if she's just hung up at her end, without me even noticing. But then I hear a heavy sigh, and Eileen resumes her talk.

"I'm not convincing you, am I?" She doesn't wait for a reply. "Well, that's fine. But if you can come around for some coffee sometime today... or tomorrow..."

"Coffee? I think I can manage that." I answer, not wanting to let her down again. To be wholly honest, I don't even know if I'll have the time. But I don't want to disappoint her, not again, not after I've turned her offer down just a minute ago. "If my schedule's free I'll come around."

"Really? Great!" She suddenly sounds cheerful again. "Do come around. I'll show you my redecorated room and everything! And I think I'll be adopting a kitten soon, I've contacted the vet and a cat breeder-" I nod to myself. A kitten, hmm? That's the first really sensible choice she's made in ages. A kitten will keep her company.

"-and... my goodness, I'm keeping you, aren't I? If you have time, come around to my place, and we'll have a talk. Okay?"

"Perfect." I reply. "Bye then."

"Bye, sweetie!" Then she hangs up.

I put down the mobile, glad that the call's ended. That's what Eileen’s always like. I want her to stop it. She's one of my best friends, but I can't stand how clingy she can be. It makes me feel unbearably sorry for her. Eileen's never had much love in her life - whenever I went over to her house when we were teenagers there would be strange men there, playing games or watching television and never taking us into account. They were Eileen's mother's boyfriends. She simply didn't care about her own daughter; she never acknowledged her presence, which I must say is perhaps a lot worse than physical abuse. It's not just a case of getting over it and living on as normal - because no matter how old she is, she'll never get over it and she's just end up depending on her friends. That's why she's so eager to get everyone together so often. It gives her a sense of security to have people crowding all around her, singing, laughing, telling jokes and having fun.

But then when the night's done and everyone's either at work or attending the university, she's left alone and miserable.

Eileen always talks in a sweet, bright voice, trying to imply that she really is fine. She's fooling no one. Nobody who knows her past falls for that, and she knows it all too well, but she always wants to see the good and love in everyone. So she ignores it.

It's difficult to find flaws, especially in your dearest friends, when you see the world with rose-coloured glasses on.

Pretty sad, I find it. I mean... trying to escape all your troubles. Closing your eyes and pretending nothing ever happened, and that all the bad things will go away. That's... that's what babies do. Infants. Little kids.

I've tried to make her see the truth. She doesn't want to know. Either that, or I haven't tried hard enough. I frown into my teacup, staring at my reflection in the dark liquid; what am I going to do? I can't let her do this to herself. Eventually Eileen must get to know herself and accept that what she's doing isn't the answer. Ah, think of what she'll become when she comes to terms with that! She won't talk in high-pitched, honeyed tones any more. She won't ring up all her friends every day in search of a companion. She'll never walk on her toes again, and she'll never pretend to stand tall like that again, pretending to reach for something and pretending she can't grasp it, all the while laughing bitterly at herself.

I turn my head away and look out of the large window, sickened with my thoughts. The teacup is still reassuringly warm in my hands, and I subconsciously tighten my fingers around the smooth porcelain. I was looking for some relaxation and I find that I can't get any. Just great. Talking about tea, I bet Eileen will find my peppermint orange tea distasteful too. She's too sweet. Shame... maybe the bitterness can clear her mind and help her think with more clarity. I'm no aromatherapist, nor am I a professional tea brewer, but I can guarantee that one point.

I glance at the corner of my garden, look away... and then do a double take.

A little ginger-striped cat is sitting on my garden fence, calmly observing its surroundings with sharp, yet somehow world-weary emerald eyes. What’s it doing out there in this rain? It must be looking for some place to rest. It jumps down to my garden and lies down in the corner, nearby the conservatory, amongst the tangled bushes and the wild catnip growing there. I momentarily think it's lying in ambush for some unfortunate bird, or a mouse, or any other small prey; but its sleek body relaxes and curls up elegantly, its eyes closing lazily as it assures itself that everything's fine, that no harm will come whilst in this garden. The cat doesn't seem to mind the endless rainy parade. Raindrops roll down its well-groomed, marmalade coat, but the cat doesn't stir. It only twitches its velvet-lined ears occasionally, shaking the water off, but that's it. Well, it's made itself at home. That's good.

I rather like that cat. Although it does seem tired and sick of catching mice and birds to quench its hunger and running away from hostile people, it's still managed to find some form of comfort in my garden. So that's how it lives its life - finding happiness in the most unlikely places and letting its days pass by peacefully. It knows how to live better than most people do. I smile, glance fondly at the cat and then look at the sky above.

The rain's stopped. The clouds are fading away into the distance, and I see the sun behind them, ready to shine down its blessed light onto this earth once more. I take another sip of tea, still watching the skies. I'll go over to her house; yes, I'll go over to Eileen's today. It's still only one o'clock - maybe I'll take her my special tea blend as a gift, along with a tea cake. And then...

And then what?

I hardly know what, but something tells me that I'll be able to eventually help her out of her shell; it may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but I think that today will be a start. I'll talk to her. She doesn't see the truth yet, she doesn't see right now that she can turn to herself. She can't see it yet, but soon.

My peppermint orange tea tastes just a little sweeter today.