By Toby Dossett
The mug was one I hadn’t seen in years, pale blue, its glaze a faint crackle I remembered from childhood. It sat on the kitchen counter as though it had always been there, waiting for me in the thin morning light. I reached for it out of habit, expecting warmth, but the porcelain was cold to the touch. Colder than the room, and colder than the rain ticking at the window.
When I lifted it, I almost dropped it. It was far too heavy. Not full-heavy, not the usual weight of tea or water, but a dense, gathering heaviness, as though the mug contained something larger than itself. I peered down into it. Inside, the liquid was dark at first, then glassy, then trembling: ripples widening into lingering silver ovals. Something moved beneath them. A small bottlenose rose slowly through the surface.
It did not belong in the mug, and yet there it was: slender, blue-grey, gleaming as though lit from somewhere under the water. It pushed its nose above the liquid and held there, watching me with one black, polished eye. Then it nudged upwards again, gently at first, then more insistently, as if it wanted the brush of my hand.
It kept rising, breaking the thin surface over and over with an impatient, pleading motion. Touch me, help me, and love me enough to lift me out. The wanting in it was unbearable.
I glanced toward the doorway, seized by the absurd thought that someone might see. Not the dolphin exactly, but me with it—me cradling this strange thing in both hands, pretending tenderness for a creature I didn’t entirely trust. Its little clicks quickened and the mug grew heavier still. In one sharp movement I carried it to the sink and tipped it out.
The creature slid free with the water, struck the metal basin, and changed instantly. No longer sleek or living, but hollow, bright, ridiculous—a plastic bath toy with a painted eye and a seam along its side. It spun in circles, tail flailing desperately, each turn slower than the last until the water spiralled away in a thin, dirty whirl. Its final clicks were softer now, mechanical. The toy tipped, caught the pull of the plughole, and vanished.
Featured Image – Toby Dossett