Tell A Tale in 500 Words
Imprisonment of a Particular Kind By Rosemary Wolfson
Imprisonment of a particular kind
“Das ist nicht gut! Vere are ze fatty sausages and baked beans?”
The thin, black moustachioed, black leather clad Cedric leered around.
It was Miranda’s 21st birthday party being held in her parents’ gracious Surrey home, with the parquet flooring and ‘slippy’ Persian rugs (no pink wall to wall carpeting here).
Even the neighbours had been intrigued by the weeks of preparation, making excuses to visit Miranda’s parents when they smelt what they imagined were the delicately prepared cheese and onion quiches, and freshly made wholemeal bread.
The day of the party arrived. Miranda’s parents went out. They knew her nicely brought up friends well!
However, it ‘was a sight for sore eyes’ when the crowd arrived. There were girls in ‘sticky out’ tutu skirts and black trainers, definitely not Scottish boys in little Tartan skirts, ‘costumed’ Cedric, plus girls in heels boring holes into the parquet flooring. Miranda was in her ‘flouncy’ ball gown. There were lights flashing everywhere. All had brought their Iphones, blackberries, blueberries, Apple devices, Curries’ latest, Motorola’s, cell phones, vodaphones, ipods, ipads, telepods, tripods and Mobis. There were mixed aromas emanating from these latest devices, especially from the gyroscopic sensors, ambient light sensors, magnetometers, and accelerometers. Most of the boys had after-shave smelling devices and the girls' equipment was ‘girly’ perfume smelling!
The parents had gone to a restaurant, but as they ordered their sweet smelling hors d’oeuvres of cheese and onion quiches they were reminded that perhaps not all was well in their home. They remembered their youthful parties, the drinkers and drug takers, and how the police had to be called to deal with violent gatecrashers. Mummy and Daddy tried to be positive. After all Cedric was a nice boy, a suitable boyfriend for Miranda, with a good future, on the way to becoming a legal professional.
Their coffee relaxed them, but tensions arose as they departed. They ‘motored’ back along familiar narrow hedgerow roads with no lighting, now menacing. As they approached their home their hearts sank as they heard the loud almost squawking music. But then they thought perhaps it didn’t mean much when again they reminisced about their own youthful pranks. Nevertheless tears welled up in Mummy’s eyes. Things got worse the nearer they approached. There was a sickly sweet smell wafting from the open windows, vaguely similar to the odour of cinnamon and ‘mushy’ fruit in the first stages of decay. Drugs were in both their minds.
The parents’ first sight was of Miranda dancing forlornly on her own, in her ball gown. She threw her arms around Mummy’s neck.
There were throngs of ‘kids’ on every available ‘chintzy’ sofa, settee and couch. There was no noise except for the music.
All the youths were in their very own worlds, playing on flashy on and off devices with funny smells coming from these latest models of ingenuity and business acumen!!
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