The Picturesque Cafe

• Bridget Penney, Grade 9, St Joseph's College
• Short Story
• 2014

Excellence Award in the 'The Text Generation 2014' competition

The rain splatters against the window pane, drops rolling down the glass like tears. They seemed to be racing each other as they made their way down to join the other conspicuous puddles collecting on the sidewalk. Headlights sweep across the cafe front adding a comforting glow as they navigate through the torrential down pour. The cafe smelt of fresh rain, floral perfume and strong coffee roasting in machines. My earphones sit comfortably in my ears although no music plays through them, as the rain is a nonpareil sound. Especially when accompanied by a introspective novel. Listening to the rain was like smelling fresh mown grass, like hearing charred meat sizzling on a barbecue in summer, like the smell of a puppy as it cuddled into your lap. It’s something that is always noticeable by smell or sound. The door bell chimes as a new customer walks into the intriguing cafe, their cheeks visibly florid from the sharp wind. When I sit in this little cafe the rest of the world seems to be rushing around me, energy everywhere. Warmth radiates from heaters, which match the hanging lights. Bright, variegated pantings hang from the walls joining the rare decor. Calming symphonies transmit out of the small speakers, adding to the carefree atmosphere. My eyes whisk up to door as a new figure walks in. A grin stretches it’s way across my face as I notice the way each customer who walks in shake their damp hair and their excited eyes scan the cafe. My worn out folder sits open on the table with magazine cutouts slipped in the left side pocket along with papers filled with ideas jotted down. My dogeared notebook sits on the right with a new blank lined page sitting there longing to be filled with words. I tap my pen against it trying to devise an idea to develop into a new story. Normally cafe environments somehow always get my ideas flowing, however today there was nothing but empty silence. Groaning I run a hand through my hair throwing it carelessly over my shoulder. Looking out the window I notice the rain has stopped and rays of vivid sunlight are piercing through the dark, dismal clouds. They create spots of light on the pathway bring light to the gloom. Immediately a chorus of umbrellas shaking water droplets and closing continues down the street as the sun breaks though. The cafe music is changed to something more upbeat and in perfect time, like it was rehearsed loud chatter starts as more sunlight fills the room, and with that my hand starts to scrawl words into my notebook, a new story idea already forming in my head. Perfect.