The
wind fears to whisper, the leaf to move, the water to wave. The scene
is extremely silent and still.
Yes, everything is still. So still is the air that the water surface
has not the slightest ripple. It glistens like a mirror. A mirror
reflecting images accurately – outlining everything from the man’s hat
to the bike’s handlebar.
There is something eerie about this stillness. Uncanny.
A deafening silence. It is ominous. It portends danger and disaster.
It is packed with pent-up pressure. The built up steam just waits to
blow off the lid.
The ticking of a time-bomb is almost audible.
The air is electric. Fully charged.
The uneasy calm predicts sure storm.
The count down has begun for the sound and fury of the impending
thunderstorm.
The signs of storm clouds are apparent: the angrily tossed down
bicycle; the stiff backs; the staring gaze; the turned faces; the cold
aloofness; and least inclination for communication.
A vigorous war of minds. A bloody duel of clashing egos.
Unrelenting. Unforgiving. Un-understanding.
An unbridgeable gap between a couple who share bed, board, bank
balance excetera!
A critical moment of dreadful suspense. When will Vesuvius and Etna
erupt, to spew fire and brimstone?
Just a small breeze might shatter the crystal- clear reflection on the
water. So also a tiny spark shall ignite the dynamite sending rocks
flying in all directions.
The outward peace here is precariously poised on the brink of a live
volcano.
Fuming inside, the heartbeats could be heard thumping on the eardrums.
Speechless with mad anger, rewinding the culmination of their frothing
wrath, to themselves they rehearse:
She: “How dare you?”
He: “Don’t be silly!”
She: “Atrocious!”
He: “Ridiculous!”
She: “A beast!”
He: “Not an iota of humor!”
She: “You had the guts to say it!”
What exactly did he say?
“Honey, though my eyes don’t complain about the size of your girth, my
legs on the pedals are groaning!”
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The
wind fears to whisper, the leaf to move, the water to wave. The scene
is extremely silent and still.