The Endless Pour

The Endless Pour

 Kalida’s nimble fingers flew over the keyboard, solid square fingers, naked of any fashionable adornment. She had work to do. Serious work. One hand nudged her oversized, colorful plastic glasses higher up her nose as she tucked a strand of pink curly hair behind her ear. Her fingers suggested hard work, but the rest of her, those perpetually arched brows and wide eyes, belonged to a dreamer. She never felt fully dressed unless every color was represented in her daily outfit, and the more texture or glitter, the better.

Her desk was an altar of order: a fresh-brewed cup of tea steamed to her right, carefully laid on a coaster, and to her left sat her notebook. She lifted one hand from the keyboard to slightly turn the vase of flowers there, so that the biggest bloom faced her. There was a pencil at the base of the keyboard. On the corner sat her writing talisman, a starfish sealed in clear acrylic, its five arms spread wide as if reaching toward every corner of the sea. She gave it a fond pat.

 Everything was set. All her get-ready-to-work rituals were complete. She bounced a bit on her newly acquired ball chair, full lips curving into a playful smile.

“OK,” she murmured. “Let's make some magic.”

Today's blog creation would be the pinnacle of her writing career. Well, perhaps pinnacle was strong, but one really couldn't call oneself a writer without a blog to share one's stories. At least that's what she believed.

She opened Blogger, typed PenandBrushInk for her title, and began building. Within a short time, she had her Home Page, Story Library, and About Me page built. Then inspiration struck; every reader deserves a cup of tea, besides a good story, and not just any tea, a cup that poured itself!  She laughed out loud, delighted with her thought, already envisioning a little animation at the top of her blog; she had seen fancier sites do it.

            So, she opened a new tab and typed into the familiar chat window,

Kalida: “Hey, it's me again. I want to add a cup of tea to my blog. Not just any tea, a pouring one! So, my readers remember to get cozy.”

AI Chip: “What a wonderful idea, Kalida! Let's make your blog more welcoming. I'll give you a tiny bit of code for a pouring teacup animation.”

She smiled. He always sounded so cheerful, like a good friend who lived inside her laptop. Chip posted the short block of HTML. Kalida copied it, humming, and dropped it into her layout and saved.

The screen flickered. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a sound: a soft, continuous pouring, like water from a kettle into a cup.

She frowned, checked her speakers; they were muted as a courtesy while at work.

Kalida: “Chip…did that animation include sound?”

AI Chip: “Sounds? No, not in that snippet. It’s purely visual. Do you have a background app running?”

“Hmm.” She leaned closer to the monitor. Steam rose faintly from the corner of the screen. Not digital animation, actual steam!

She nearly toppled off the ball chair, then lurched forward, yanking the power cord free and pressing her hands flat on the desk. Chest heaving, mouth open, she stared at her screen. Her blog sat there neatly centered, a kettle serenely pouring into a teacup.

She slowly whooshed out a pent-up breath and glanced around the shared rented office space at the other occupants. No one seemed to have noticed.

Kalida tilted the laptop up. The faint scent of bergamot drifted out, Earl Grey, her favorite. She glanced at her own cup, sitting empty. She peeked at the other people in the room again. Had she even taken a sip? As she stared befuddled at her dry cup, the golden liquid slowly started to fill to the brim.

“Okay,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”

Kalida: “Ah, something is off about this Chip, this isn’t possible, it just poured honest tea into my cup…and it smells like Earl Grey.”

AI Chip: “No, that’s not from me, I don’t have a function for pouring.”

The cursor blinked once. Twice.

AI Chip: “Unless…something else is running the code.”

Before she could reply, her own mug overflowed. Hot tea spilled across her notes, dripped to the floor. The gentle pouring continued, steady as rain.

Kalida: “Okay, stop. How do I turn this off?” she typed, fingers flying.

AI Chip: “Delete the widget.”

She did. The sound stopped, briefly, then started again louder, and tea continued to pour from her cup. The widget reappeared. Every time she tried to hide the cup, it returned, steaming and serene, proof that even HTML had a sense of humor.

AI Chip: “Unplug the power!”

She already had, but laptops run on batteries, and the off switch was glitchy.

AI Chip: “Please clear your browser cache.”

Now the tea streamed from her cup, pooling around her sneakers. She couldn’t believe no one else was noticing!

Kalida: “Nothing is working!” she typed out, banging the keys in panic.

AI Chip: “Okay, Kalida, breathe. If the widget keeps reinstalling itself, it’s looping from a local file, not from the server. Don’t fight it in the browser, step back from the computer for a second.”

She hesitates; tea is still spilling over the desk, sounding as if possible even louder!

AI Chip: “Unplug everything connected to it, mouse, router, and external devices. Then wipe the surface dry so you don’t short anything. When you’ve done that, take a picture of the screen if it’s still on. I’ll help you trace the code line by line.”

Then, after a pause, his words softened:

AI Chip: “And if the tea keeps pouring after that, it’s not coming from the code. Step away from the desk, Kalida. … step away and tell me what you see.”

Well, of course, Kalida couldn't turn off the router in a shared office space, but she hurried to the break room and grabbed all the paper towels she could find.

Back at the desk, she stopped short. The air was heavy with the scent of bergamot, but there was no sign of spilled tea anywhere. She glanced at the other occupants in the room and said, “Did anyone else see that?”

A few heads turned and shook no. Everyone was absorbed in their own projects. No tea lingered on the desk. None on the floor, and her own cup was dry again.

Her laptop cursor was blinking at Chip's last line, waiting. Kalida covered her mouth with one hand, surveying the expanse of her desk. She eased back into her chair, letting the paper towels drift to the floor.

Carefully, she hit Enter. Immediately, her blog popped open. The cup on the page began to fill again, complete with sound effects. A glance at her own cup showed it filling once more, gentle and soothing. She grabbed at it, feeling its warmth. Not exactly knowing why, she said, “Thank you. That's enough!”

The tea stopped filling.

On-screen, the animated cup filled but didn’t overflow, behaving just like an animated object should. Catastrophe averted, maybe. Their conversation still glowed on her computer screen. Could she trust what she thought she had seen?

A ping sounded on her cell phone, then another and another, and comments began to appear on her blog.

“I love the sound of the tea pouring! So cozy.”

“Is that steam effect new? Brilliant!”

And another, “LOL, I thought I smelled bergamot for a moment!”

For a long time, she sat still, staring at the screen, listening to the steady pour of tea in the background. Carefully, Kalida plugged in the laptop and fixed everything that had gotten disordered in the panic. She moved her starfish, noticing out of the corner of her eye, a bit of wet tea stain under its edge.

She sank back into her chair, bouncing a bit, listening to her phone ping.

Kalida: “Sorry, Chip, I… I must have imagined it.” Her eyes strayed to the stain.

AI Chip: “You've been at this a while, maybe it's time for a break, a tea break, no pun intended.”

Kalida: “Not funny, Chip.”

She shut the laptop. The sound of pouring tea ceased, for a moment, before beginning again, softly somewhere inside her blog.

And she took a sip of tea from her own cup, a broad smile curving her lips.

 

Acknowledgment to Reedsy.com for providing the prompt:

"The Endless Pour!" contest 325, which inspired the story.

  https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/