The Hood: One hour

The sounds echoed through the jungle, scaring  the brightly coloured birds that inhabited the canopies of the rainforest.
It was an eldritch scream, inhuman, terrifying, and the forest went silent with fear.

The thick layers of moss deadened the sound of the drip, drip , drip, drip. He watched, eyes glinting with suppressed rage as the water clock splashed the seconds away. He had one hour. That was all. One hour. He wondered if it would be sufficient time. But it was all he would get.
There would be no second chance.

His robes swirled around him  as he hurried away  through the echoing tunnels, the intricate hand carved bas-reliefs leering at him as he passed. The floor, rough-hewn and still marked with the blood stains of the unfortunate slaves who had spent their hours  chiselling away  the stone.

At last he reached the entrance. He paused, thinking about time. Would there be enough? He knew what would happen if he was late. The terrible price he would have to pay. He could not afford to get this wrong though. Too much was at stake.

He pulled open the heavy mahogany doors. They swung easily on the huge hinges and he stood there for a moment, pondering, planning, picturing in his mind the final scene.

No. That would not do. Neither would that.

And he began to pull out the contents of the vast wooden cabinet, holding each item in his hands before flinging it  across the room with a sound of disgust, of revulsion, as the water dripped relentlessly into the carved granite bowls, dripping away the seconds, the minutes.

Drip, drip, drip, drip,

Time was running out. He had not made a decision yet and the water clock had nearly  run dry. One hour. Had he been searching for nearly one hour? It didn’t seem possible.

He had to choose. And choose now.

Drip, drip, drip, drip,

And with a shriek of anger, full of rage and fury, he dragged his lilac tunic, the one  with the hideous flowery braid, from the coathanger.

‘Why is it I never have anything to wear?’ his furious voice reverberated through the cavernous ruins.

And as he headed for the Annual General Meeting of the local Evil Despots’ Association, hoping that the others would not realise that he was wearing the loathsome lilac tunic yet again, the water clock dripped its last, little, hesitant …..

Drip.

One hour.

Dedicated to all those who understand!
I do not own this character. If I did, he’d be wearing something more appropriate.
In black.
Possibly Nehru styled.

 

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