Silent Night

Just a descriptive passage I had to write for my English class.

Silent Night

The room was dark, save for the light of three orange candles which danced, carelessly, on a long wooden table carved from European walnut. Faces, clothes, expressions, distinctions--these were things hard to make out in the dim light of the little church. In a corner to the right of the table, we all stood, side by side and bunched together, gathered around a grand piano the color of burnt red. There was a closeness in the darkness, one that friends and family and loved ones know best but even strangers can come to find. In the dimly-lit room, each one of us put aside our differences. What did it matter that I wore a silvery dress and the woman across from me a sari? And why was it important that the woman to my right had dark skin and the one on my left had light? Perhaps one woman flaunted excessive jewelry, or one man inordinate tattoos. I did not know--I could not see--and in those moments, it did not matter. Of my own, I wore a silvery dress, as has been said, and my feet were bare on the cozy carpet. In my hand, I held a steaming mug of hot chocolate, the sweet smell lingering about the room and mixing with other scents--perfumes, colognes, the smell of bayberry scented candles, and of sugar cookies, and of pine. The pine was most wonderful of the smells, considering its source, as it came from the tall Christmas tree lounging in the corner near the table. Its branches were decorated lavishly with reds and golds, and atop it settled a brilliant golden star, peering down at us like our own guardian angel. Watching us, and listening. There was some chatter, mainly in hushed whispers, among us, but for the most part the little, dimly-lit room was quiet. Not the silence in which one might sit and think lonely or awkward thoughts. No, that was not the kind. It was the quiet in which one was quiet only because one felt in such content and perfect state of mind that nothing was necessary to be said.

 

The room was quiet. Now there was no sound. Stars sparkled from an above window, a Christmas tree twinkled from its corner, and candles flickered from their table. A man rose and began to play the piano.

 

“Silent night . . .” he sang, and it seemed a million voices joined him.      

Author's Note

Would appreciate any critiques.

Reviews

[Tai Ryens]

I love the imagery embedded here, and the description of smells is amazing as well. The fact that you say that physical looks don't matter in the beginning of this really cut down deep, most people forget that under all these jewellery and physical bodies lies a beautiful soul in each of us.
You also explained the emotion of mental content perfectly, the bliss of silence.

Let me also add that the ending was absolutely amazing, the thought and imagery that it puts into my mind is really a beautiful sight.
Amazing job, I do hope you keep writing!