Birthday Party

It was well past noon. The sun bathed sand was still hot and burned his dirty feet. But he could not resist the temptation of looking at the unending array of waves that were hopelessly trying to reach him. He laughed mirthlessly and waited for the darkness to descend.

He ambled along the deserted path. He could still hear the waves but he could not see them.

He looked at the moon and thought of the bloated bellies of the starving children.  Where had he seen them, the children with bloated bellies? He tried but he could not recall.

The images were getting intertwined. There were the images of the socialites in diaphanous dresses and lockets and bracelets that were unusually glittering. Every one of them looked like an alabaster statue. Some of them made scintillating speeches and a few even recited what they called, their great poems on the ‘misery of living.’ Everyone had kept up the masquerade of being erudite and learned.

He felt a jolt. He had unknowingly kicked something on the beach. He stopped. It was a stuffed toy that a child had perhaps left on the beach. He picked it up. It was an expensive toy, but he didn’t feel any thrill. He thought of the starving children and suddenly recalled he had seen them decorating a birthday party thrown by a rich socialite. 

Was he there too?

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A post for Sunday Whirligig 100.