The party guest

He immediately realised that this was a party of obligatory greetings and contrived smiles; a party where people prolonged distrustful glares over plates of steamed broccoli and pork tenderloin. The wiry old man gazed at the seated crowd; his typically candid expression had immediately fallen at the sight. Such hidden animosity among peers had given the room a dour essence.

He wasn’t without a few tricks of his own, he thought wryly. He had a job to do and he intended to see it done! He waved his arms and cleared his throat loudly. It was all in the presentation. Anyone who had ever accomplished anything had done so with extravagance and grace. He raised his arm regally, as if the proclamation he carried was of the utmost importance. His bearing was suddenly authoritative and resolute.

Once he had the rapt attention of the assemblage, he took a step forward and began to speak. His shoe caught beneath the red chemise rug and he pitched forward onto his face, emitting the low squeal of a swine.

He rose immediately and raised his camera, snapping photos of the speechless crowd. His display, which had been more extravagance than grace, had produced a vast array of smiles. There were thin-lipped humourless smiles, delighted smiles that reached the eyes; a wide array of character defining expressions based around a single unifying moment of stunned mirth.

The photographer continued snapping photographs as the dinner guests broke into amused conversation.