Sunday, October 12, 2008
The shadow of a human hand fell on a whitish wall. The shadow danced a slow clumsy dance. It flickered and jumped as if it were the least bit comfortable. Then suddenly there was darkness. A gust of wind had knocked open the window. The wick of the candle lay smoldering. The red glow gently diminishing with every swirl of cold air. Slowly, the last embers died out. The night sounds made their eerie presence felt. The sound of crickets filled the dark void. "Where the hell is the matchbox ?"