Golden Rimmed Windows
Like a corrupt mans heart, the sky was painted black. The once marshmallow clouds were ashy and let not a single star show itself in the night sky. Raindrops ran from the clouds like a child running from an angry dog. The ocean was regurgitating its depths. The waves, jumping to and fro, were doing an unknown tribal dance to the dark music of the rain. They were beating against the side of our majestic boat like a possessed drummer. We couldn’t hear the wind howl, or smell the stinging salt invade the air. We couldn’t hear the thunder rip open the night sky. We could have seen the storm though, if we wanted. If anyone of us took a second to become disengaged from the laughter, or gave our forks a break and looked up from our plates, we could have looked out one of the golden rimmed, circular windows that lead out to sea. But who would want to look away from the creamy rug or the silky tablecloth and past all the happy faces and bustling waiters. The crystal chandeliers reflected the leisurely light perfectly and the circular booths with their velvet backs were more comfortable than most anything else. The harp sang a gorgeous song that calmed everyone down to a level where the most important thing was enjoying the zoo that was set in front of us to eat. Every edible plant and animal was set on the table before us. There were about 250 people in the main dining room on our cruise ship that night, yet only one of them wore an uneasy expression above his black tie.
For the past three days we had been subjected to more service than the kinds and queens of our world. Crisp white towels were delivered to our doors before they had even opened, so we weren’t to miss a second of splashing in one of the three Olympic sized pools. There were enough comedy shows, concerts and parties to tire even the most experienced socialite to exhaustion.
Just as I was reaching an unhealthy state of bliss, an unimaginable sound tore the room’s wonderful atmosphere to bits. The music stopped. The waiters crashed into one another and food jumped on to the expensive gowns of the overly plump women who were practically pouring out of them. The ship to rival the Argo was now being thrown about on city-sized waves like a delicate dress in the washing machine. Now we all noticed the storm. Something was wrong though, why hadn’t we felt the rock and roll of the storm earlier. The man whose uneasy expression made him stand out before, returned the walkie talkie to his pocket, stood up and announced that there was a crack in the hull of the ship. My stomach dropped. The room was instantly more chaotic than the victim town of recent terror attacks. Everyone was moving. They had all become a blur of expensive ties and diamond rings. I was getting dizzy. The words “We are sinking,” kept playing over and over in my head. I was having trouble differentiating the people from the furniture. Screams were coming from every direction and the sound of glass shattering never ceased. My family and I would not live to see the morning. That last thought was too much, I fainted on to the tilting floor…
I jolted upright in my gleaming mahogany bed. I squinted for a second before my eyes became accustom to the darkness of the room and I was able to look around. Relieved washed over me when I saw our room in the same slightly messy state that we had left it in before retiring that night. The gentle breathing of my three cousins stationed in beds around me was comforting. I continued to examine the room until my eyes rested on the golden rimmed, circular window. The waters were quiets and the stars shone proudly in the sky. The storm I had noticed at dinner when I gave my fork a break, and looked up from my plate, was gone. After a final sigh of relief, I let my head sink back into the coolness of the pillow and let my thoughts slowly wander back to the mysteries of sleep.