It Was the Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul
WHO: The Kirkland family (Macbeth, Dewi, Arthur, Peter, and John Paul)
WHEN: Wednesday, Sept. 16, evening
WHERE: Dewi's place
WHAT: The night is young, the set has been made, the players assembled and the play begins when the curtain rises... Dinner is served.
RATING: It's a family reunion- anything goes...
It was neither dark, nor stormy, nor particularly rainy evening, though the world was moist with a slight drizzling and the air stirred by a cool, ethereal breeze. The ground was sturdy, the grass crisp beneath his feet, and John could swear here and now that in his heart, he felt the gravity of the situation tugging at every bit of his soul. It would, indeed, be a night he would never forget. The ambiance that had settled over the land insinuated the finest of dramas to unfold. From the faint tendrils of fog rolling along the earth the further he ventured into Liberty's outskirts, to the echoing haunt of traffic afar.
Yes. Yes. It was splendid. Rich. Permeating. Each step, he thought he could hear the creaking of bones, the blood rushing in his veins as it pooled into his heart and rampaged into a thundering, painful pound. Delectable that was, and it hadn't stopped since he'd left his flat with the finality of metal clinking within metal. The locking of the door seemed to secure not only his worldly possessions, but the intangible doubts he had housed, seated alone in the darkness of his living room.
The calls had been made. The internet, he'd utilized to the fullest. What it came down to now, was the congregation of the actors for a film decades in the making.
There could be no room for those, the shadowy phantoms of insecurity. So he had wrought this plan, so too would he bring it to its resolution.
Not far in the distance, came the baleful bleating of sheep and John, squinting, traced the outline of a home with his eyes.
His pace quickened. He ran a palm over his wild hair, adjusted the unclasped button of his shirt. Hoped, in some fascinating sort of desperation, that his five o' clock shadow wouldn't prove too offensive. Patted the small satchel slung over his shoulder.
Made it to Dewi's door with a grin that could kill and all the conviction in the world that what had been broken could now be mended.
John curled a fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood.
"Yoo-hoo, mate! It's John Paul! Y'in or am I too early?"