The Gatecrasher

It was the smell. The rambunctious laughter reverberating off the walls in the confined space transformed into a peculiar silence. Mass sniffing of nostrils and uncertain shuffling of feet represented the only antidotes to the quietude. As the inebriated and the incongruent alike attempted to discern the cause of the involuntary interruption, their efforts were aided by the permeating stench which had now found its strongest place of preference and positioning near the makeshift bar.

A man looking as though he was at the Cul-De-Sac of his life was struggling to find his bearings as well as the nearest bottle. Both these endeavours however, were taking a toll on him. He was wobbling on unsteady feet that ended in a tattered pair of boots, like a thin reed being mercilessly buffeted by an unkind storm. He had blank and lifeless eyes that seemed capable of looking nowhere and everywhere at the same time. A feeble attempt to comb back a growth of unkempt and unruly hair had ended disastrously. His unwashed overcoat, the unbuttoned shirt beneath it and a creased and rumpled trouser, let off a stench that was a vile combination of sweat, grime and urine.

The guard came bursting into the room. Catching the Gatecrasher by the scruff of his neck he tried to drag him out. The intruder’s legs gave way and he came crumpling down upon the floor. My wife suddenly spoke in a voice, brittle and broken, “Please don’t hurt him. He is my husband.”

Word Count: 250)

#TellTaleThursday withAnshu & Priya

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