This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 36; the thirty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is “and then there were none”
‘Ten little soldiers went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.’
The photograph was still stuck on that grimy wall. Crinkled and slightly yellowed, but the faces were all there, starkly clear. Ten pairs of passionate eyes on those vibrant laughing faces. They had defined life as it should be lived – uninhibited and uncensored.
They were successful. They were hungry.
The photograph said it all. Sitting on the floor, seven boys and three girls, their heads falling back, laughing. The two in front were holding the rum bottles while the red-haired girl set fire to the alcohol-filled shot glasses. And although it couldn’t be seen, Cream was turned on full volume; Eric Clapton made them feel like nobody else. Somewhere in that cracked almirah was another photograph with all of them dancing. Music, after all, was their drug.
And yet, the walls were grimy, the almirah was cracked. The floor they had danced upon was now home to myriads of fallen plaster pieces and dust. The room no longer had its smell, it had lost its spirit. Eric Clapton was a sudden stranger.
Only the photograph remained, with its bokeh lights and flaming shots and inebriated, laughing faces of ten friends who were heady with life. It was the only proof of their existence.
‘One little soldier left all alone;
He went out and hanged himself and then there were none.’
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: Enchanta, Participation Count: 2