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.
Eloquently silent animosity. Adamantly righteous. Fiercely defensive. Aggressively offensive.
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: “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!”