Teapot Tale

She rolled out of bed her normal time - early enough that she didn't have to feel lazy about wasting that morning, but still late enough that she could waste the rest of the morning without feeling lazy. But on this particular morning, the timing of her awakening was not important. A much different awakening had occured in her. No matter how much her desire to do nothing that morning, her productivity could not be avoided. It was of the lazy sort, and thus the best sort, that required nothing more than simply existing. The fact is, something had changed during her peaceful lengthened sleep. At the moment she felt this, the thoughtful conflict did not arise in her between whether the world had changed or whether she had changed. Instead she simply felt. When the teapot whistled, she hesitated before pouring her waking cup of tea. Everything was different. Magic. As she tilted the spout she could feel it in the air, as heavy and permanent as the disappearing vapor and the echo of its heralding whistle. Magic. She suddenly wasn't sure of this new world and of this new her. This new day convinced her that she shouldn't be so sure what was in the teapot. Everything seemed uncertain, foreign, but balanced. Magic and change hung in the air - change far less substansial than nickels and quarters, but change that could be considered far heavier then monetary value. This made her feel like anything could fall from the tea spout. Something quaint - a bouqet of flowers, sprung from the spout with petals that would never melt and dew drops that turn to sweetener. Something evil - a scaled snake, slithering out of the spout, with a million writhing snakes hissing, pouring out behind it, leaving behind skins like used teabags. Gunsmoke, tears, kazoos, gold, bats, butterflies. Anything. The world was unfamiliar yet that in itself it felt familiar. Magic. At the moment she felt this, she wasn't sure how she had this new power to see things; whether it was her power over him that had shown her how to discover, or whether it was the power that he had over her - the thoughtful conflict did not arise her. What did arise in her was an acceptance. She's a little teapot and he floats away like steam.