Thursday, March 6, 2014

last laugh

The fuss died down. It would. It must. It was the principle that this world moved in. Nothing was forever. Everything must die. Even fusses born out of events that were blown out of proportion. People eventually got bored. The interest waned. Until it became a shriveled, muted version of its booming, turgid former self. The projector flickered and the shadows that once towered and danced on the walls, deflated like black balloons. The last ripple had smoothed in a calming sea, a sea that claimed much. A sea that stirred and waltzed with many a personal storm. But no storms today. Just a dying sea.
Then it came. Loud and clear. A gunshot in a prairie afternoon. A crack of thunder and a sudden whiplash of lightning. A chuckle. No one was supposed to laugh now. The joke was over. Every one nursed spent lungs and hoarse throats. Who had breath to spare? The chuckle grew. A sapling that quickly grew a wider stump, branches that reached out to the sky, leaves popped verdant with a vengeance, flowers bloomed ripe and suggestive of deep secrets. It grew strong. It claimed a life of its own. The chuckle took on the form of a peal of laughter. Echoing through the valley of amazed silences. It was her. The one that was supposed to be the joke. The supposed fallen angel. Where was the penance? Where was the repentance? There was nothing, but this report of apologetic insolence. The last laugh. That amazing twister of roles. That outright ridicule of everything that reduced it to a joke.

2 comments:

Lucky said...

love love love this!

MissDanThrope said...

Thank you, lucky!