by Mithun Mukherjee
It was just another night.
"Two glasses of Chardonnay please", one of them ordered. He was dressed in a white suit, a white tie, his eyes exuding brilliance almost unearthly. His blond hair almost shone.
"Not very angelic...” the other guy mused. He had long hair and was rather peacefully dressed. The calm on his seemed to echo the solitude of centuries. He looked weary.
The waiter placed two flute glasses filled with a clear liquid which bubbled slightly. "To humanity", they chorused and moved the glasses towards their pressed lips. And then it happened.
The glass in the hands of the long-haired guy started humming and vibrating softly. Bubbles rose from below and burst on the surface in a soft hiss of expensive wine spray. The color of the liquid started slowly dancing, almost psychedelic, changing into a fine azure. The other guy stared with a look of resignation over his face. It finally rested, a glass of crimson, peacefully settled on the white tablecloth.
During the commotion, the guy in the white suit had managed to get up and slowly move behind his partner. He nudged and they slipped out of the restaurant, leaving behind a startled waiter staring at a wine-glass filled with clear blood on an expensive white table cloth.
They walked on the road outside, dim street light streaming at their faces. Finally the guy in the white suit spoke,
"Don’t you think it ought to be the other way round?"