short fiction · 2026-10-30

The Tea Bag Tag

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The tea bag tag dissolves at the edge first, the ink bleeding into hot water like a secret refusing to stay kept. She watches the string grow slack, the staple surrendering its grip, and thinks about how many mornings she has done this — hundreds, maybe thousands — without ever noticing the tag's slow death. The water darkens. The tag becomes a pale ghost of itself, fibers unspooling. She could fish it out. She could read the fortune printed on the other side before it vanishes. Instead she lets it go, watches the last legible letter curl and disappear, and wonders what else she has let dissolve without reading.