Confetti dropped down like a million snowflakes. There was nothing above us but the fluttering whites falling on the stage, me, and them. They were rectangular pieces standing out from our black hair like crystal jutting out from the darkness of a cave.
I could reach out to take one off my coif but instead I looked up and stretched my arm out. Daniel made it look easy in The Sorcerer’s Stone but catching one tiny piece from a flickering thousand was an unbelievable challenge. Fumbling, my tiny fingers finally grasped one before it could fly out of my palm.
The lights were on and everyone was busy talking as they waved these tiny white pieces off them, but the confetti was magical to me. It was the signal of the end. The end of three hours of body grinding against body, sweat rubbing against sweat, voices making a crescendo that overwhelmed me.
The only tangible thing I had to remember me of this night was one piece of confetti that I hurriedly kept in the safe confines of my phone’s back cover.
It’s still there and will probably stay there until the long future when my old, battered phone finally breaks down and I will be obliged to open the back cover. I will see the inconspicuous piece of paper that will remind me of the night when I was younger, a little more foolish, and in love with seven men who will never know my name.
And I will smile.
I wrote this for the Weekly Writing Challenge of The Daily Post: ^^~
Using words only, take a snapshot of the experience. We’re looking forward to reading your imaginative scenes, sans photographs!