Eye of the Hurricane
Loeffelholz
The United States, With LovePosts: 8,998Quartermasters
...He sat alone, in a deserted clearing, his laptop on the grass in front of him, displaying the AJB home page. He prepared the fourth vodka martini of the session---on the rocks, with a wedge of lime, first squeezed over the ice and then dropped into the glass, preceded only by a hint of vermouth. The tinkling of the ice was unnaturally loud in the silence which surrounded him, like a cloak of dangerous calm.
Quiet. It was too quiet.
For a year, there had been incessant chatter, and clashing of swords, as the announcement came and went---trenches were dug, lines formed up on either side, and the conflict solidified into a dreaded No-Man's-Land of contested territory, neither side yielding to the other. One became accustomed to the fray; it was a fact of life.
Then came a distant and barely-audible (but unmistakable!) sound of a production clapboard, from somewhere over the horizon...followed by small-arms fire, the screeching tires of high-performance automobiles on pavement, and a hint of music which seemed new, yet hauntingly familiar...and the combatants all paused, turned to look in the direction of these sounds, and then nodded to their adversaries in a fleeting, gossamer moment of common recognition. Like the Christmas Truce of 1914, the moment came and went---someone fired a shot, and the war was on once again...
That had been the leading edge of the storm---a slow-moving Category 4, which threatened to consume everything in its path. Now the eye was directly overhead; the sound of the ice in his martini glass dominated the landscape, and seemed to echo across the scattered debris, which extended as far as the eye could see...the stillness was strange, and unsettling...
But he knew the eye would soon pass, and the clamour of the storm's finale might be more dramatic than that which had proceeded this moment of eerie, preternatural stillness---the first hint would be the more insidious, whispering sound of far-away red carpet camera shutters---and the full force of nature would be felt once again.
He looked at the computer screen; its comfortingly delineated areas of blue and black---and the tantalizing text which lie in-between.
He smiled, and took a long pull from the drink. Nature abhors a vacuum, he'd alway's read, and it would not tolerate this one much longer. He only hoped that the combatants would remember that, in actuality, they were all on the same side.
James Bond was about to return.
:007)
Quiet. It was too quiet.
For a year, there had been incessant chatter, and clashing of swords, as the announcement came and went---trenches were dug, lines formed up on either side, and the conflict solidified into a dreaded No-Man's-Land of contested territory, neither side yielding to the other. One became accustomed to the fray; it was a fact of life.
Then came a distant and barely-audible (but unmistakable!) sound of a production clapboard, from somewhere over the horizon...followed by small-arms fire, the screeching tires of high-performance automobiles on pavement, and a hint of music which seemed new, yet hauntingly familiar...and the combatants all paused, turned to look in the direction of these sounds, and then nodded to their adversaries in a fleeting, gossamer moment of common recognition. Like the Christmas Truce of 1914, the moment came and went---someone fired a shot, and the war was on once again...
That had been the leading edge of the storm---a slow-moving Category 4, which threatened to consume everything in its path. Now the eye was directly overhead; the sound of the ice in his martini glass dominated the landscape, and seemed to echo across the scattered debris, which extended as far as the eye could see...the stillness was strange, and unsettling...
But he knew the eye would soon pass, and the clamour of the storm's finale might be more dramatic than that which had proceeded this moment of eerie, preternatural stillness---the first hint would be the more insidious, whispering sound of far-away red carpet camera shutters---and the full force of nature would be felt once again.
He looked at the computer screen; its comfortingly delineated areas of blue and black---and the tantalizing text which lie in-between.
He smiled, and took a long pull from the drink. Nature abhors a vacuum, he'd alway's read, and it would not tolerate this one much longer. He only hoped that the combatants would remember that, in actuality, they were all on the same side.
James Bond was about to return.
:007)
Check out my Amazon author page! Mark Loeffelholz
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
Comments
It's just a bit of fun, 'shooter. This is a kind of 'zen moment'---a commentary on a pregnant pause which cannot possibly last much longer
Plus, it was the fourth vodka martini of the session
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM
So perhaps we should do something to stir things up, perhaps a dedicated Bond 22 Forum?
Maybe on the rocks tonight!
B-) Here you go...
"I am not an entrant in the Shakespeare Stakes." - Ian Fleming
"Screw 'em." - Daniel Craig, The Best James Bond EverTM