The pot was piping hot. The scones positively crumply. The plates were set approximately 90 degrees apart around the circle table. In the center was a plate for lemon, a container for the cream and milk. The set itself was made of the finest china, gold lining and intricate designs fit for a queen. The teacup sat, waiting to be filled and drunk from, but no one ever came.

In the distance you could hear the toll of bells signifying it was noon, tea time, yet there was no one there to drink. The wind blew with a soft breeze causing the trees in the background to sway lightly. The chairs and their cushions were prepped and puffed to perfection. Their pink and yellow floral pattern standing out against all the shades of green background. It sat on the patio, a patio made of pavement as the color of creamy milk. The flowers in the garden, their petals soft and light from the spring draft, shuffled like cars in traffic. The sky was blue, but the type of light blue that seemed barely blue, almost white. There were clouds scattered across the sky, but they weren’t clouds. They were lines of smoke, from aircrafts that had just traveled over the city.