The aging Diva primped for her grand entrance to the Christmas party she hosted annually. She reminded her assistant for the umpteenth time, to make sure the Grand Ballroom was to remain dimly lit — candlelight only. Her vanity dictated that she’d only be seen in best light.
The aging recluse hid within herself what she didn’t want to face in the mirror — the lines and wrinkles which marked her time on earth. As she entered the Ballroom, her flaws remained hidden to the crowd, but not to herself.
The Diva managed to conceal her face, ravaged with time, by wearing scarves and hats, and her signature cat-eye shaped sunglasses when she absolutely had to go out; trying her best to stay out of the limelight during the day. But certain social gatherings were expected, and obligatory.
As the evening progressed, a woman in an intoxicated state stumbled into the elegantly decorated sweet table. She was unaware that the jagged claws encasing the expensive diamond in the ring on her hand had latched on to the tablecloth in her passing stupor. As she continued to walk, without noticing, a thread remained attached to her ring causing the tablecloth to rip away from the table.
The disturbance captured the attention of the guests as the candles fell over and caught fire to an edge of the tablecloth and everything else flammable on the table. Pandemonium ensued, and in instinct, a guest dashed to flip on the lights.
The room was illuminated and the ornate chandeliers sparkled in all their glory. Guests and wait staff tossed pitchers of water at the spreading flames, and within moments, the fire was extinguished.
The Diva was nowhere in sight.
D.G. Kaye © 2015-10-13 DGKayewriter.com