Three women sat sipping tea and puffing at their cigarettes. It was a warm, peaceful morning among the beads of roses and daffodils and the sweet smell of Spring, like a paintbrush in the artist’s hand completing the whole scene making it close to perfect. The women did not speak to one another. It was as if a quiet rush of thought was passing through each individual mind but somehow telepathically connecting one to the other. Nevertheless the sweet silence seemed appropriate and went well with the fresh scent of cut grass and roses.
The few sounds came from a couple of random goldfish jumping out of the water and plopping back into the pond close to the little wooden table which the women sat at.
A bird was chirping in a distant apple tree, singing about what was to come and about the little beauty we know. Suddenly the chirping became more distressed as a fat man with a bright red face wearing an expensive jacket walked into the picture. He bent down with some difficulty; nearly falling head first into the pond. The women continued their sipping and puffing without giving him an ounce of attention. The fat man looked around in the grass till he found a plug connected to a wire which led only god knows where. He then yanked it out of its socket (very ungracefully may I add) then everything turned black.
Next the fat man was on stage facing a stone cold audience. Everyone sat in silence, all minds quietly connected. But soon the affect would wear off, the same way pain is uncovered when more painkillers are needed and how the yearning for more drugs seeps back into the system. Suddenly there was uproar of screams as the white noise of everyday life crept back into their heads and settled comfortably filling their ears. Looking from above it seemed as if the entire audience galloped gracefully over the theater seats till they reached the front and smothered the fat man. His last words had something to do with payment.
But slowly that too dissolved and the women were back drinking tea. Someone in the theater pushed the plug back into the socket. Soon the sweetness of that spring morning seeped under the door and circled the world till all the streets were empty and nothing was ever done. Everybody was busy lost in the impossible sweet silence of a spring morning that all in all was created by man.