“The room overflowed with the smell of posh liquor as glasses clicked for the fifth time. The soft music soared through their ears, melting whatever guilt or inhibitions they might have had.
She was already drunk, her speech slurred, her dress disheveled. Her companion smiled at her and made pleasant conversation. And in a moment, it happened.
And that’s how folks, our beloved Jimmy came to be.”
Everybody burst out in laughter. You could trust Bran for sassy eloquence, except this time, he ended up with a black eye.
Jim had been waiting for almost an hour. Quite an amazing feat for him, I assure you. He had been swinging two and fro on the gate, blabbering away strange stuff on his own, like little boys often do.
Finally the car was seen at the turn. It stopped and out came his parents, his mother carrying a small bundle of clothes in her arm. She bent down to give Jim a better view, as he looked on with wide eyes full of wonder.
“Your sister,” she said.
As a child, he used to pretend to be the villain. He would wrap his head up in a black cloth, leaving only his eyes exposed, and run about the house with a makeshift gun, mimicking popular bad-guy lines from the cartoons on TV. His little sister used to be terrified. He enjoyed that.
It’s a wonder what time does to a man. She breathes age into his senses and clouds his thoughts. Maybe that’s why he could feel nothing but shame today. He wiped off all traces of himself and ran away into the world of darkness.
The sound was like that of high quality bass at a rock concert, pounding at our eardrums at regular intervals. A slow and steady beat without a hurry in the world, ignorant of the immense anticipation dancing amidst the silent crowd.
I was but one among the hundreds of researchers gathered to witness this historical event. Yet, from behind the bars, it stared specifically at me. In those huge eyes I saw countless emotions and a faint twinkle of sportsmanship.
The drug had worked. The eyes grew lifeless and the beat stopped. There was exactly 10 seconds of waiting before the crowd burst into applause at the new found way of fighting back. I counted.
“A dinosaur? Sure? In here?”
“I think so”, she said, as they pushed through the pandemonium towards the centre.
The playground resonated with the furore of a few dozen children, no more than 6, that had gathered around something that had captivated the imagination of many.
With a little effort, they made it to the heart of the clamour, where two or three, cloaked in calm, stared at what seemed dusty fragments of a bone.
It stirred them into a fanciful reverie of far away, of long ago, of the crude thrills of a portentous past. The possibilities absorbed them, and consumed them, and hushed them into quiet enticement.
In the distance, a 13 year old, with a snort of arrogance, quipped at the absurdity of kids fussing over broken eggshells in the dirt.
“Search the rooms!”
There were probably a dozen men. He carefully observed the faces through the tiny crack meant for air. They seemed human. For a second he even considered…
Clang! The sound almost made him jump. One of the men emerged from the kitchen dragging Bessie by the hair. His heart broke then and there.
“Where are the others?” The leader screamed at her. A brief silence, followed by muffled thuds of violence.
As they took her away, Bessie’s swollen face turned towards him, accusation burning in her eyes. He quickly bit his thumb to silence his chattering teeth.
The ancient lump from his childhood poked at his throat once again.
He picked up a handful. It was natural, he kept telling himself. No need to get emotional over it. He tried to think of the millions of oxygen atoms snapping perfectly into place on the carbon-filled pieces of paper. Yes, it was the most natural thing in the world.
But alas, his scientific brain had failed to comprehend the power of that which was invisible. Not everything can be burnt away. The ash leaked through his trembling fingers and drifted away in the summer breeze.
It was almost comical, how his tired brain perceived the figures dancing around him. Few familiar faces stared at him, their lips moving, probably shouting or screaming like they always did at the slightest opportunity. Being oblivious to sound was kind of fun. He almost wanted to linger on for few more seconds.
It would be fair to say he enjoyed it. The faint sensation of hands cradling the back of his head, the everlasting knowledge of victory, but mostly, the peacefulness of the entire thing.
War lulls many to sleep, and he felt no need for mindless conflict.
Note: I didn’t have much to do, so I felt like participating in a writing challenge. This is supposed to continue for a month, having 30 words as prompts . Knowing myself, I’ll probably give up midway, but hey, it never hurts.