On the top floor of the high-rise; in the dimly lit corner room, the shadows lurked around, murmured and sighed in exasperation. Bales of paper; were strewn on the ornate desk. Documents to be analyzed and investigated. The upholstered drapes on the aperture frames shielded the rain-clad exterior environment; from the reticent interiors. The aureate flames dazzled in the stone hearth, the heat reflected on their flushed faces and whispered speeches.
One paced across the room; peered through the slender cranny in between the curtains and signaled to others, “All’s calm within the perimeter”.
Another exhausted with the maneuvering, removed his overcoat. His hands raised, he proclaimed, “Will the mission be a success story?”
The pot-bellied clinched his fist and moaned, “I pray so, or else; we’ll have no other options.”
The demure chap quipped, “Let us be optimistic, the unimaginable effects will be everlasting.”
The calculative man seated on the leather couch, smirked, “Be patient, let the precious time speak. We’ll create a modern history.”
Speculations continued amongst themselves. They have to be cautious; lest their secret deeds get exposed.
The faint strains of dawn peeped through the nooks. The gentlemen though weary after the sleepless night; tossed and waited in that spacious hidden chamber with bated breath. Their minds sped to distant lands experiencing disasters, “When will they get the much-awaited information?”
The black beast of a telephone; was set on a small round table near one of the windowpanes. Five pairs of eyes unceasingly stared at it. Amid their hushed debates, they have checked consecutively; its functioning facilities. The unbearable wait seemed like decades.
“Yes, there it is!” They exclaimed in unison, as the ringing resonated amidst the strained atmosphere.
He got up from the couch and raised his finger, “Let me take it,” and swaggered towards it. He stroked the black object like his sweetheart, and answered with a cold, manipulative tone, “Hello! Is the job done?”
The chimes floated through the phone. The countdown has begun. Seconds seemed like hours; at last, the clock struck twelve; at night somewhere far.
“Well done. Thank you.”
He turned; and addressed the group, “The ‘Fat Man’ has landed safely. Cheers to our planning and pursuit.” They shook hands and laughed; relieved from the anxieties and apprehensions. It was the culmination of new friendships and the conclusion of previous hostilities. Finally, they have triumphed.
The newspapers declared in bold; the news poured from radios. Treaties signed; truces proclaimed, and peace existed. The world leaders attended summits, and masses gathered in public areas; and flocked to meetings.
The unanswered questions remained in the cores of beings, “Was it the end of a saga or the new genesis? Death always carried misery along with it – so is it a day to rejoice and glorify or grieve and agonize…..”
It was August 9, 1945. World War II has eventually ended.
Fat Man – Code name for the Nuclear Bomb detonated in Nagasaki after midnight.
Photo From: Unsplash
This is an entry for the event #twelve #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room.
Find the event guidelines here: https://writers.artoonsinn.com/five00-10/
Event sponsored by The Archaic House
Are you a poet? Join ArtoonsInn Poetry Parlour here: www.poetryparlour.com
Join Poetry Parlour Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/poetryparlour/
Join various other rooms dedicated to art via www.artoonsinn.com