Holy Hay!

The roads were nearly empty, not very dark, but very empty. I walked on. I was late. And it wasn't meant to be this way. I wasn't supposed to be late. I carried on walking. There was fire on the road ahead. And tribal beats. Almost ancient demon like. Maybe I should turn around. These are really not the places for kids to hang around, at this point of the night. But turning around means going back a long way. Too much time would be wasted. Why not just push on and check what it really is? Might just be people dancing around in the joy of the windy night.
I suddenly saw a kid. He ran across the street and disappeared into one of the adjoining alleys. Red face. Looked like he was bleeding. And a few more followed him. They were chasing him, blackened faces.
His face was glistening in the white neon lights. Not the nicest of the sights to be seen around. I kind of pushed the image away, and kept walking.
The fire was sky high now, crossing the heads of many, and trying to scorch whoever was left before it. And then there were people. None of their faces could be made out in the dark. All that I was being able to see through the fire were the brightly blooded shirts. They had blood on their faces too. And they were humming, and screeching, kinda sounded like mourning over something, not really joyous, didn't give much pleasure to the soul. Maybe I should really turn around now. This place is not really looking very hospitable. But what the heck, I was late, and I had to reach home as fast as I could. I pushed into the farthest corner of the road, and passed those men. They were still behind the fire, they were still screaming, and moaning, and I still couldn't see their face. I kept on walking. It was a full moon night, but it was way too cloudy, for the moon to shine on. Clouds, they cast shadow on the moon, according to Keats. Not very scientific Mr. Keats.
And I saw men walking on the streets. All in a line, and they were all marching in a weird rhythmic way. Kinda looked like drunkards practising goosestepping. And their face, all with different colours, mostly shades of black. They were looking very strange. So many drunkards at the same place, or was I the one who was drunk? Not possible. I didn't drink. I ran past them, they were scaring me.
In the road ahead I could see men, boys, children, everyone with dry foliages on the shoulder. They were dumping the branches and leaves at the middle of the street. Oh no, they were planning to burn the whole street, the road ahead! I had to get pass them, before the fire broke out. I ran. I ran for my life.
And the people. The faceless people were laughing, I covered my face. And I ran.
Finally, I could see the main road. Vehicles passing each other. Running for cover from faceless people
I saw a taxi. And there was the taxi driver. He didn't seem to have colours on his face.
Enough of faceless people. I ran for the taxi.

Sardarji! Picnic Garden jayenge?

Ji zaroor jayenge. Kaha jayenge boliye?

And the taxi driver turned towards me. He wasn't a sardarji. He had no beard. He had no freckles. He had no nose. He had no mouth. He had no eyes.

..He had no face...



This is the style in which I first started writing.
And BTW, don't go around walking like a drunkard in the night before Holi.