Smell the coffee

A quickie from a Macclesfield Writing Group exercise concentrating on genre. With a nod in the direction of Douglas Adams:

The smell of coffee awakened its senses.

It glared at its interrogator using all of its four hundred and seventy six eyes. “This is not allowed you know. Under Clause 375X of the Universal Charter of Creature Rights no being should be subjected to the smell of fresh coffee.”

The interrogator, a Zircon from Outer Kelvin, faded in and out of visibility and turned slightly arcturus amber. “This will be unknown by all. It’s just the clashing of our word credibilities. So just gift the knowledge into my memory bank and imprisonment will not be yours.”

The prisoner blinked in perplexity. “Can you say that again please.”

“Abundance! What is your iron in the fire here? Do you preach Adaminism? And where is the root ginger?” And popped the percolator back onto the pot-bellied stove with gestures full of extreme malice, chuckling cruelly.

His captive shone blue with fear, but held firm, “Under Clause 375X of …”

But before he could say more the Zircon placed a one-shot espresso cup on the highly polished mahogany Queen Anne coffee table and reached for the percolator. “Sweetener?” it asked, sarcastically.

The prisoner fell screaming to the ceiling where it lay weeping and moaning. But still refusing to speak.

“So,” said the Zircon, “It is uttering you are not. Time to get unplayful. I’m afraid we are going to have to open the Nescafe!”

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