Newton's Cradle

By Shrija Roy

Perpetual silence, as the string was pulled upwards to a maximum. The grandeur display of a classic concept; what seemed as if dignity blazing through the tarnished yet perceptibly glinting cardboard backbone of the spectacle for it would borne sunlit dust specks. The marbles seemed to get devoured in the light and unveiled minuscule bubbles inside, reflecting and presenting mirrors, as if they were vicariously living our world through their profound black, an ash-colored, misty black. The string was released, and the mirror-filled, ash-black marble tore through fragments of air when the much-awaited clink, as it collided with its comrade, was the only sound that penetrated the room.

An indelible echo was created, and the last standing marble made its way through the gasping air, for this meant that the law was proved correct and conservation of momentum was indubitably exhibited. The last marble made an elegant bow to the audience as it reached the strike and again the first marble rose. This motion persistently followed and what seemed like would go on forevermore, freezing the world and grabbing undivided attention. But, it soon came to a halt, unfurling time and letting the marbles go back to their myriad observation of everybody, enshrouded between the bubble mirrors, donning the glorious black.

By Shrija Roy