“… some hibiscus, and a few shavings of ginger root… there!” I brought the teapot to my nose, wafting together the aromas of the ingredients as a conductor orchestrating a symphony. With a twist of the knob on the hot water tap I began to fill the vessel with tea-to-be, the dried leaves and petals blooming once more as the water breathed life and color into the herbs.

I carried the full pot to my kitchen table and took a seat to wait and watch this almost sacred part of my morning ritual. The essences of each component mingled in dull clouds that swirled through the liquid. As the surface settled I caught my own reflection in the tea, a darkened image of my own eye looking back at me from within. I let my gaze drift back to the cabinet where I had spent years haphazardly hoarding bottles of this and that like a greedy sorcerer with a penchant for potions. A little vial containing twists of lemon peel caught my attention, perhaps the perfect sharp note to sing out at the top of my brew.

When I dropped the rind into the pot, shattering the placid surface for a moment, it was almost as though the whole character of the tea shifted, the clouds within swirling in turbulent spirals. I’d never been quite so attentive to the way a single ingredient could alter a brew, and I eagerly awaited a chance to sample the results as the tea settled once more. I caught my own eye on the surface once more, making eye contact until… it blinked.

I would probably have convinced myself it was a trick of the light if it didn’t disappear from the pot altogether shortly after. In its place, something bobbed up from impossibly deep within- a bottle? A glass bottle, but its base was far too wide to fit through the lid of my pot.

Hurriedly I pulled a large plate from the cupboard and poured enough tea onto it to form a shallow pool. When it settled again a pair of eyes this time appeared once more, followed by a bottle, which bobbed to the surface and rolled to its side on my plate, revealing a scroll of paper within.

I took the bottle and uncorked it, retrieving the message. “Please help, accident at tea plantation. Fell into a flooded crop. Trapped here for two weeks, unable to escape through teacups, teapots, travel mugs.”

I dropped the note to the table and ran to the cabinet, scooping as many ingredients into my arms as I could before ferrying them to the bathroom. I began to draw a bath and surveyed the basin before me as I contemplated my stock of ingredients. “I’m going to need more tea when this is all finished.”

In our ancient history, a being arrived through portal from an alternate reality; he had only one item, black tea seeds.

These seeds were cultivated in the Wuyi mountains and transformed into the powerful Lapsang tea known today. It’s intense smoky flavour didn’t in fact attribute its reality bending experience. It is now understood today as some sort of quantum entanglement. At least that’s what this monk is explaining so far..sip..sip..

Very intense is true, It is like I drank in a powerful pinewood campfire. Apparently these tea plants still grown here today are closely linked to the seeds of the wanderer long ago.

Reality started to bend, things are phasing in and out of existence, this tree became a different tree of the same kind, the monk teacher became a different man momentarily; and I see myself right next to me for mere seconds. He waves gently after a short pause from each of them, and I wave back, gently as well..until it all fades away.

I excitedly but cautiously take another sip.

Benjiro Asahi pondered his life as he walked through the series of red gates that wound up the hill towards the ancient shrine. It seemed his trajectory towards his goals was off by just enough. Reminiscing about the long years of education in physics, engineering, and finally astronautical engineering had been a waste. America had decided at just the wrong time to have a boom in commercial space flight. Combined with his utter failure in the psychological testing phase at JAXA, Asahi’s dreams of going to space and reaching for other worlds had been dashed against the rocks.

Turning his head to the side to gaze at the bare cherry trees he recognized the oldest of them with there ancient ceremonial ropes knotted around them. The small shrines at their bases coated in desiccated winter dried moss looked well cared for. Asahi had always loved this shrine with it’s winding forested path and bunny statues. As a child he had found the idols fascinating, and as he grew older learning of the association with the moon only increased this feeling. As he grew old enough to attend high school, his regular visits to the shrine were noticed by the old priest who kept the grounds. Idle chats over the years turned to a fast friendship and eventually to a paternal relationship when his own father had passed away. That relationship had been what motivated him to reach for space. In the barren times after his father’s death Asahi often shared his depression and fears to the spirits of this shrine. Eventually the old priest had noticed and taken Asahi into his home and shared some tea. He spoke about moving on from loss and finding new purpose. The old man had known of my fascination with the moon, and the tales of heavenly realms being traversed by the snow white bunnies the shrine honored. He told me that I had a purpose, that one day I would travel the heavens. Sitting with him that day, sipping the bitter green tea, I could almost see those heavenly realms and I was filled with motivation.

Coming to the end of the winding path Asahi looked up at the old shrine, snapping out of his reverie. After years of visiting this ancient holy place, the sights and smells triggered an almost automatic response in him. Without thinking his legs carried him to the well beside the alter and he washed his hands and sipped the icy cold water with one of the wooden ladles. Cleansed he paid his respects to the rabbit spirits clapping his hands reverently at the alter before ringing the old bell. Lost in his own thoughts Asahi was startled out of his trance when a querulous voice said, “Young Benjiro, you sure picked a cold day to visit.” whirling around I looked down the stairs of the shrine to find the old keeper glaring up at me. The mischievous twinkle in the old man’s eyes took away any weight that glare might have had.

“Old man,” I spoke with a chuckle, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yes yes,” Kannushi Tabito Uzuki snapped with his patented weightless sarcasm, “Come boy lets get out of this chilly mess and warm up. I want to hear what you’ve been up to these past few years.”

Following old Tabito to his home in the rear of the grounds, I couldn’t help but smile. The old man still acted just as crabby as always, but I could see from his raised shoulders and spry pace that he was glad to see me. The familiarity warmed my heart and lifted some of the depression from my shoulders. Entering his home, the warmth and smell of burning charcoal further lifted my spirits as I removed my waterproof boots and stepped up to the warm wooden floor of his familiar home.

“So my boy, go get comfortable under the kotatsu and tell me what you have been doing these past few years. I’ll get some water boiling for tea.” He grouched to me as he ambled over to the open charcoal pit at the center of the room.

“Tea is a beverage full of contradictions, of possibilities. It’s a liquid made from solids, it can be served both hot and cold, it can both awaken and relax. If a portal through realities exists, is it really so surprising that it would be tea? Scoot said, a sly smile gracing his face as he struggled to cut his pancake. He surely believed he words to be profound.

Trent — his waiter — did not. Why do I always get the nut jobs? I swear if I didn’t have a million dollars of student loan debt, I’d rip this apron off and choke my supervisor with it. He flashed his best HR appropriate smile at Scoot and said, “that was an enlightening conversation. Thank You. Enjoy your meal!” He rushed away from the table, only for Scoot to snatch his arm.

“Don’t forget what I told ya now.”

Don’t roll your eyes, you can’t get fired. Again. “About the government being run by highly functioning llamas with transformative abilities, or the number four being a fake number planted by aliens?”

“Both. But especially don’t forget what I told ya about the tea.” Scoot reeled Trent’s arm in like he’d caught his first snapper after days of starvation. Then he whispered, “Think about it, Illuminati, triangle, right? Triangle starts with the letter ‘tea’. Not only is it a drink, it’s also a letter!”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.” His customer friendly tolerance was dwindling by the nano-second.

“Whats your name kid?”

Oh dear lord save me. “Trent.”

“By Grace! You’ve been blessed with the eye, kid! Your name is book ended with ‘teas’!”

Tip also starts with ‘T’ and I swear I better get a big one for dealing with this shit.

It took twenty minutes before Trent escaped the void of Scoot’s conversation. He shot the shit with his co-workers in the back during his break and waited over fifty tables throughout the night. The dining tables were a revolving door of new and returning customers, all eager to eat overpriced food and shove stale jokes down his throat. All except one. Scoot’s. At closing time, each table emptied, ready for cleaning. Except Scoot’s.

He sat there blissfully unaware of the sounds of sweeping and squirting cleaning products. Not a flinch at the stench of bleach, as Trent doused every uninhabited surface with it. Suddenly, he sprang up and hurried out of the restaurant. Fucking good. Before he departed, he turned and faced Trent’s direction. Fucking not good. “Don’t forget to read the tea leaves, boy. It’s a saying for a reason.”

Fortunately for Trent’s job security, Scoot left a split second before his patience did. He inspected the last uncleaned table in the restaurant; no tip.

The next morning, his troublesome little brother, Anton, roused him out of bed.

“Wake up! Wake up!” Anton assaulted his mattress and peace. “The leaves are falling. They look so cool. Come look!”

“Yeah, yeah, they fall every year. You live long enough, the excitement of falling leaves wears off. Actually, for life in general.”

“Hurry! I’ll wait for you outside. Let’s go build a leaf-man!” Anton bolted out of the room, delivering his best Usain impression.

A leaf-man? He might be the second dumbest person I’ve spoken to in the last 24 hours. Trent re-snuggled himself under his comforter and a revelation dawned on him. Falling leaves; in June? With measured caution, he left his warm bed and trailed his brother outside. When he opened the front door, he froze.

A blizzard of green leaves pelted the Earth. The sun’s light struggled to peek through, instead settling to light the ground a rich emerald. The concrete jungle he inhabited favored the palate of an actual jungle. All the grays and unnatural colors of the world converted to earthy tones.

Compact blades of light green leaves littered the surface. To his left, a tornado fortress of leaves encased his parent’s vehicles. To his right, half a single Spider-Man covered shoe lay on the ground. A staple character in Anton’s catalogue of role models. But where was Anton?

The leaves on the ground were dense, but too shallow to hide a boy’s body — no matter how young he was. He probably went back in the house for me. Yet when Trent turned around, the house was no longer there. It vanished without a single parting message. At this point, Trent was sure he’d slipped up and consumed whatever drug Scoot took.

Scoot. Why would he think about that old man at a time like this? He reasoned with himself and examined the leaves. Ah-ha. Tea leaves. As a waiter, he’d prepared tea on many occasions for patrons. The very sight of the leaves made his hands ache. What he saw scrawled on them made his stomach turn.

“Congratulations. The fourth dimension has selected you for interdimensional testing. We welcome you Anton.”

Tea had been my drink of choice since I was a small child. My dad taught me how he always made it and that’s how I did it for years. I always loved the first glass of a freshly brewed sweet iced tea, only three or four ice cubes for a special kind of experience. Cold on top where the ice cubes were and then as I drained the glass, the sweet liquid would progressively get warmer. Colder tea is sweeter with that lovely aftertaste but warmer tea is always much stronger. It makes for a unique experience every time. However, when the pitcher that I always used broke, I had to use a much bigger one which caused the pot that I used to no longer hold enough water for the pitcher, and since I’d only ever measured the sugar by how thick the layer at the bottom of the pitcher was, all of my measurements were off and I had to find a new way of making tea. 

Since I had to do things differently anyways, I figured it’d be cool to try out adding some different things and maybe even finding something to substitute the sugar with and make the tea healthier. First I tried blueberries that I’d been growing for a few years. That turned out to make the tea pulpy and so I decided to try something else. On and on I went, experimenting with different combinations of fruits, spices, or anything that I thought would give it that special flavor, the one that I can seemingly only dream of. I must’ve tried over fifty combinations. So invested I had become that this little project had become a personal mission consuming my every waking thought and now following me to my dreams. One night I dreamed of this concoction with a cup of milk, a pinch of ground cinnamon, and several drops of vanilla extract. When I tasted it in the dream I experienced pure bliss, like all of my worries and fears melted away. So heavenly was that dream that I had to go and make it a reality. 

Brew the tea, pour it in the pitcher, add the milk, then the cinnamon, and finally the vanilla. I lowered a spoon into the pitcher, stirred, and when I was satisfied, I took it out with some of the tea in the spoon for a taste. Anticipation of my dream coming true filled my head, I could hardly wait to taste liquid heaven. I taste it and…

“*BLEGH* that is the most disgusting thing I have ever had the misfortune of drinking” I said as I spit it all out into the sink. The whole pitcher was useless. “Uggghhh” I sighed, “guess I’ll have to pour it all down the drain”. Only, after I poured the pitcher down the drain, the tea came back up. “Huh, maybe the garbage disposal is clogged” I wondered aloud as I reached my hand in to find the obstruction. I was very confused because I couldn’t feel anything besides that disgusting slop that was supposed to be tea. But as I tried to pull my hand out, it wouldn’t move. Actually, I was being pulled in! “What the hell is going on! Why can’t I get away!” The more I struggled, the stronger the pull. Eventually, my arm was so far down in the drain, the only part of it outside of it was my shoulder. “We’ll at least I can’t any further” I thought, “I guess I’ll just have to sit here until someone comes around and they can help me get out of here”. But I was very mistaken as somehow my shoulder and then my torso and head made it through the drain. Suddenly, I was through! I opened my eyes to find myself in a jungle surrounded by people and the sound of a waterfall behind me. 

One of the people stepped out from the crowd and said “welcome, newcomer, let us show you around your new home”. Unsure, I reluctantly took his hand and let him help me up. New home? But I was just at home, how did I end up here? What is this place? Why is he acting like this whole thing is normal? All of these questions and a million more circled through my head. Unable to decide where to start interrogating my tour guide, I instead, opted for silence. 

“Welcome to ‘Tē Dēśaya’, which if I’m not mistaken, in your language means ‘land of tea’” he proudly announced. “My name is Aldrin and I’m the leader of the tribe that you just joined.” If I was confused before, then I was now befuddled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t *join* a tribe, I just got here, wherever ‘here’ is.” “Sure you did, it all depends on how you created the portal and like I said the name of this place means ‘land of tea’. Which as you’ll come to discover is quite literal. Look at the trees, look at the dirt beneath your feet smell the air, and look and taste the water. All of the trees are *Camellia sinensis*, otherwise known tea trees, the  dirt is made up of ground and dried tea leaves, the air smells of tea, and last but definitely not least, the water is tea, each sip tastes different but is exactly right for whatever you desire in that moment. Whether it’s the temperature, sweetness, or strength, it’s always different but still always perfect.” “That sounds very nice and all but did you say portal?” I was beginning to think maybe the garbage disposal had turned on while I was playing “Operation” on the sink and now I was hallucinating from blood loss. “Indeed I did, tell me, did you once have a nearly perfect recipe for brewing tea and then one day something happened that prevented you from making it that way?” Aldrin gave me an amused look as my face turned to astonishment as he kept going, “and did you become obsessed with finding a new way to make tea to get that “perfect pitcher?” I was now thoroughly and completely bewildered. “Wha-, how did y-“ I sputtered. He just laughed and said “that’s how we all got here. It’s a very common story for all of us.” He motioned to the growing group of people behind us, I had forgotten about them until then. “So did you all dream about brewing a tea with mi-“. Aldrin clamped a hand on my mouth with a quickness I didn’t believe was possible. “Do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone, the recipe for what opened your portal. Yes we all had a dream that showed us each a different recipe, that’s the only point in which our stories differ, but if someone were to find out your recipe, they can use that information to do terrible things”. He looked away for second looking, for a moment, less like the leader of a tribe and more like a man who had lost something close to him, or someone.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]