Charades And Twister

 

All around the lifted house was green beach grass, covering about an acre.  Palm trees with mostly drooping brown branches, a few green ones sprouting out the top, the taller the tougher.  The sea was a quarter mile down a paved road, the music of the water could be heard always, three little birds trading lead vocals, the waves roaring the melody.  A few barking percussions.  Mostly, though, it was quiet.

Rigged up world of pixels and worry.   Alerts, notifications, and red warnings.  Maneuvers, exercises, and mundane methods.  Silence.  The mind won't be left behind.

Designed to give a sense of missing out, of being out of touch, of being asleep.  But sleep is good, rest the soul.  Grifters and goons, masked and proud, conformed and washed.  All dressed up, ready to pin the tail on the donkey and drink the grape punch.  Their parties suck, nothing but charades and twister.