CONSPIRACY: THE THIRD WORLD

Chapter Eight│ Ready, Aim, Fire

©APOORVA2015

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With our backs to the wall, the darkness will fall
We never quite thought we could lose it all
Ready, aim, fire, ready, aim, fire

                                            ---Chapter Eight---

A pair of hurried steps advanced towards the pandemonium room, panting a little as her calf muscle ached from fatigue. The noises from the room were conspicuously louder and fierce. She stopped at the door briefly to catch her breath and then entered inside but everyone was heedless. Everyone was radiating dissimilar colour but red, the aura colour of anger and anxiety was passionately shining in most of them. She mentally counted all the members and there was more than expected. She sighed in relief.

“How could you let that happen!” the man screamed, his aura circle bright red with ardor

“I did not know that it would even happen,” the other explained, “That was all so sudden.”

“And perfectly planned,” the woman spoke

Everyone turned around to see her. They greeted concisely, shifting a little to make some space for her. She sat on the carpet, next to the boy who was meekly staring at people with his almond colored eyes, not fully aware of what was even happening. She folded her legs, smiling a little to the anxious boy and he immediately dropped his gaze. His aura was frequently changing; white was closer to his body representing the purity of his soul, dark grey layering on white referring to his fear and brown on the outer circle denoting insecurity.

“We have to start searching-”

“We have no clue.”

“But we cannot just sit and talk”

“Shouldn’t Agustya be informed?”

“You talk as though he is a friend…” someone joked, his aura circle orange

“Technically, yes.”

“This needs to be resolved”

“We have to-”

“You don’t say! You can’t even find your toothbrush in the morning”

“Shut up Kashi!”

The chaos was evident from everyone’s uncertain speech. She cleared her throat and that made the throng still with anticipation for her words. It was not her words that mattered or that they were eager to hear, it was her position. She was a high ranked Avician and hearing to her was their way of exhibiting their respect. She stood up gracefully.

“Avan is on his way,” she calmly said, “he will resolve the issue.”

Everyone nodded their head in agreement but more in submission. The boy sitting on the carpet slowly rose and stood in the back of the room. Nobody spoke thereafter, nor did anyone dare to whisper. The only sound that now remained was of their low breathing.

The sound of someone’s footsteps reverberated. A man entered. His dark hair fell flatly on his forehead and brown colored hawk-like eyes scrutinized the room. He marched up to the middle of the room and stood with his hands clasped together behind. His shirt which was tucked perfectly in the black trousers rolled out from the sides.

“Alright friends, we are in a crisis!” his strong southern Indian accent powerfully boomed, his aura circle a shade of orangish-red

“Hello Avan,” the woman addressed