• Ten…nine…
    They're counting down, joining around a crammed sofa, hands wound together tightly.
    Eight…
    The numbers fall from their lips like weighted tears from broken hearts, and ricochet off the food strewn table and the tense air.
    It's wound so tightly and compact like a slinky between a small child's delicate hands, it could erupt any second.
    Seven…six…
    Leaning forward, closer to the glossy screen with anticipation, their toes curling and entwined fingers twitching.
    The suspense is killing them more than any Bigmac or French fries could ever, and their air supply is dwindling as fast as a spinner's spindle's distance from the floor guided by old, calloused hands.
    They don't mind, as it's a good pain similar to the needle poking the skin for a tattoo, or the p***k from a piercing gun to your ear lobes, and it sends flutters through their full stomachs.
    Five…
    Tongue's bitten down hard enough to draw blood, they can taste the silence, eat it with a spoon.
    So thick, it compresses their chests more so to send even more stars to the starry sight, and holds everything still as death as it dreads its own murder soon to come.
    Four…three…two…
    Any other thought drifts away like a balloon slipped out of a joyous child's grasp, drifting to unknown places, and all they can think about is the last second, the last tiny bit.
    It's that feeling you get staring at the last bite of cake on your plate, as you feel sadness tickle your heart at the realization that it's nearly gone, and there's no more to replace it.
    One…
    Intakes of breath shatter the still air, the clenched hands squeeze one another with a vice grip, feet pull back slightly to prepare one's self for movement, and smiles creep and crawl to every face, as contagious as a yawn in a crowd.
    Zero!
    Jumping to the sky or simply raising their arms in wild gestures much like a struggling snake's, gleeful squeals and cheers and screams can be heard 'round the world as celebration flies like wildfire.
    Lips to lips, sweet kisses are exchanges, or maybe a simple, friendly hug passed around, or even just a meaningful nod and grin comes up.
    The year has come to a close, the big, flashy curtains at the end of the play have fallen and draped over it, coddling it sweetly like a mother her infant.
    It's never to show its face again, as the new child of it has spawned and revealed itself to take over for the worn hands with silky skinned ones.