Thursday, November 5, 2015

up, downstairs

The house seemed alive both up and down.

Downstairs, the children laughed. They did not know why they were made to stay. However, away from adult drinks and most adult things they were rent.

Stairs, covered in soft carpet, still creaked beneath small feet. Stifled grins and scarce held tittle, little by little they crept up the stairs. A plan had been had, though quite mad, quite mad, snuck children up the stairs.

There were conversations there, upstairs, both shallow and grim with easy uneasy grins. Worries were birthed as off-color jokes; dead hopes were paraded as political outrages. Tired cocktail tropes roughed into place by laconic hands.

Though the children could hear, and pick up sad patterns to replay, they did not care. The children thought themselves clever there, hidden in stairs.

Out from burlap came the cat. I mean to say, courage was wrung, and the plan sprung! Danced the children through the kitchen, singing songs remembered from movies forgotten.

There then arrived genuine smiles in earnest exclamatory joy.

This was not allowed. The house was to be empty but loud. Children should be quiet, unheard, unobserved.

Again downstairs the children did crowd. Huddled around, new schemes were breathed into mischievous life.

Relighting the spark, into the dark, the children sallied forth with joyous branches of coral flame.

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