The festival lights are a throbbing  mess. Against the black night and the sleeping buildings, they bare their teeth; like a small-time, children's book demon. Through the drawn curtains of my room, they are making patterns on the walls. Lines that come and go and slowly make my head hurt.

The festival day is behind us. The people in their sunny clothes have left. The elephant God has fallen asleep. The food has been put away in air tight containers. The holiday has come to an end, as it always does.

At the end of everything, what remains is the sound of laughter that rings through the room - like a lost echo on the hillside.
By the time it fades, some wandering traveler comes by and screams again, doing almost everyone a disguised favour.