Not me. Not me. Not me. She prayed.
She watched the bottle fastidiously as it made its rounds like a clock on fast forward. What will they ask me or what would I have to do? The fear running through her like adrenaline kept her on high alert as if ready for battle. Every time it passed her, a smile would spread across her face in relief.
But not just relief, that smile was of a devious person trying to craft the most unique dare or a question that would betray everything about the other person. This process thrilled her because it was her chance to be creative and to be entertained out of something of her creation.
Finally she began to enjoy this process of sharing and bonding while these waves of fear, relief, and deviousness oscillated in her like a sine wave.
He did not pray for anything. In fact, he relished in shear joy of the company of his friends. Not worried about whether the bottle will land on him nor planning to make anyone uncomfortable.
He watched the bottle with content as if waiting to divulge his secrets to the table. Waiting patiently as the others came up with twisted dares and questions and happily accepting them each time like a box of chocolates.
Uncaring and jovial, his energy was infectious. His willingness to take on any challenge infected the rest of the table. The guards were coming off and whether it was because of his energy or the magic of alcohol, no one knew.
He prayed too. Each time that the bottle turned. But no one could tell because he was so calm and cool. No one knew what was going on in that head of his. All they could see was him enjoying the moment.
But they did not know that even under intoxication, the restrained attitude had control over his body. He did not let them know that the gears in his mind were constantly working, always devising how to win. How to outsmart any question that came his way like a wizard whizzing past bludgers in a game of Quidditch.
And of course he won. Numerous times. When the rest were too befuddled to ask trapping questions or when he willed the bottle to move right past him.
This post is written for WordPress’ Writing 101 topic: compose a series of anecdotes.