The post is written in response to a prompt from Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #34 — Celebration.
The radio breaks their early morning silence as they drive.
“Next up, Kool & The Gang wi…” the announcer is cutoff as the ignition is killed.
They step out of the car and pause to savour the coolness of the dawn air before they head inside. Stop and smell the roses, is what they might say if they were prone to speak.
Past banners and balloons in the corridor they enter the main room. Above their heads the ceiling fan spins, the curls of party popped paper caught there trails spirals in the sky, cutting through fake smoke and still flashing lights. Tables are strewn with half-empty glasses, champagne corks, congealing finger food, bedecked with streamers. The walls are festooned with multi-coloured balloons and banners, chairs still hold jackets, and the edges of the dance floor glow LED bright. It’s warm and the aromas of spilled wine and vodka bear a stale metallic edge.
Close your eyes and picture it, the scene played out a thousand times before in this very room. Cram it full, turn the volume up, lower the bar prices, sit back and wait. Glasses will tumble from hands, chairs will rock over, and dancing will win out in the end. Conversations will be shouted back and forth, verbal tennis punctuated with screams and laughter.
Except now there is only silence.
The partners slowly turn their gaze from the room, to each other, and then back to the room to face the bodies lying there, lying everywhere.
It had been a celebration.