At 11 o’clock in the night, I sat alone in an empty 24-hour caf é rushing to report. There are only me and the barista wearing a hat behind the bar in the store.
When placing an order, I ordered a hot American style drink. He lowered his head, didn’t say anything, just silently turned around to do it. A few minutes later, a steaming cup of coffee was pushed in front of me.
Thank you. “I picked up the cup and took a sip. It was very hot, but the taste was a bit strange, with a faint rust smell. I didn’t pay much attention and continued typing on the keyboard.
At 11:30, I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came back, I found that the position of the coffee cup on the table had changed – it was originally on the right-hand side, but now it had moved to the left-hand side.
I frowned, thinking I had made a mistake. But as I sat down, I caught a glimpse of the barista behind the bar staring at me intently. His eyes were hollow like two black holes, and a stiff smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
I tightened all over and looked down at my phone to hide my panic. At the moment when the screen lit up, I suddenly froze——
At some point, a new line of text appeared in the phone memo:
Don’t drink that cup of coffee. I was already dead when you came in
I suddenly looked up at the bar counter.
There is no one there.
Only the cup of coffee was still emitting steam, and in the swirling white smoke, a twisted face faintly appeared.
I was so scared that I knocked over the cup. The scorching liquid splashed onto the back of my hand, but I couldn’t feel any pain. Because it’s not coffee at all – it’s dark red, warm blood.
Just then, the doorbell of the coffee shop rang.
A woman wearing the same clothes as me pushed the door in, walked to the bar and said to the air, “A cup of hot American style.”
I lowered my head and looked at myself——
My hands are slowly becoming transparent, and behind the bar, the “barista” wearing a hat is slowly taking off his hat.
That face is my own.
So, I’m not a customer.
I am the last lingering obsession in that cup of coffee that has been left behind.
The next person sitting here will soon find that they can’t finish their coffee no matter how much they drink.
Because every sip is draining one’s memories.
