Frustration
brewed in his stomach and flooded his system as he realised that his cowardice
and over-active mind had ruined his chances of reaching the party. It was a helpless frustration, and he sought
for something to blame other than himself for his failure. He swore at the river, he railed against the
vagaries of the weather and the unnecessary darkness of the night sky; he
stormed at the insidious stories of his youth.
The river below him insolently soaked up his insults, and continued to
flow slowly. It seeped ever closer to
the party that was being held at its banks downstream, mocking the efforts of
the lonely man at its side. The sky was
extremely clear now, as the last clouds vanished, and the cold that came with
this was like the sudden chill of entering a long-disused room. Cold stars were glimmering vacantly above,
viewing the newly revealed scene beneath them with indifference. Far off, deep in the flat vastness beyond the
river, the jagged teeth of trees still held the darkness fast, and a lonely
oak, planted by optimistic souls long ago, reached its heavy fist at the sky. The furious man gradually shed his anger,
exhausted by the evening spent in such a spot.
He thought for a time, half ashamed by his outburst, and resolved that
he should continue walking.
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
A Story...part 5
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