Confident

He saunters in, high on his own good looks, roving eyes everywhere rest momentarily on warm burnt umber glow of pampered youth

The young ones watch, fascination, envy combined

The not-so young ones too, caught betwixt his animal charm and the embarrassment of fantasising about someone so much younger than them

The old ones perceive the thinly veiled arrogance, their hackles raised, they watch, waiting

He pauses by a storyteller’s group waiting to begin

Bright-white flash, strong hand introduced, he draws up a chair, sits legs splayed out, one arm brazenly lounging over the low back of his chair

Storyteller starts, her rich happy voice falls like warm rain

Suddenly, he interrupts with a facetious comment

With infinite grace, the storyteller nods, continues

Few minutes later, an insinuation coils out, veiled by a wide bright smile

Some listeners frown, but he brushes it off, as if ‘twere a mere joke

Storyteller resumes, flow broken, magic tattered, she makes a valiant effort

But the asides don’t cease

The rest of the group gets involved, tries to stop him, but youthful ego has closed his ears to anything but the sound of his own voice

Politician’s smile intact, he offers an apology heavily prefixed with if I

Mood shattered, the group looks stonily, Storyteller picks back the thread, but respite lasts mere minutes

This time, a comment explodes brewn from the minds of a thousand bullies targeting the different

Anger gasps, disgust writ large, some shrink away bodily,

He looks around, waiting for the approbation that he feels due

Sparks flash from some eyes, voices raised in disapproval

Quickly, the storyteller ends the session

Another if I apology stinks up the hall, politeness nods frigid heads

Satisfied, he walks away, alone The rest follow, together

Outside, they mill he turns to approach, the exodus perfectly timed, dissipates before his reach

A temporary frown creases his forehead, shoulders shrug

The old ones smile knowingly, foreseeing a path strewn with falls, blamed on bad luck

Unknowing of it all, he saunters away, confident of strewn roses

A response to David S.’s interesting prompt — Exodus

© Indira Reddy 2019