THE DANCER

She must be real. She is beautiful, dressed in white and moving with a grace that remedies the nightmares that attack me. They are not real, I hope. Look at her…the elegance of the hand, the triumphant leap, the eyes filled with compassion. All around her love emanates. Her feet, bare and graceful land with a whisper. The air blows outward from them and alight like a gentle kiss.

You can hear it. It sounds like an amplified muffled kick to a chest. You look in the direction and suddenly metal and smoke are everywhere. Everyone close to you covered in blood and pieces of flesh now. The ringing won’t stop in your ears as you look at the carnage. A foot here, over there someone looks ok although they’re crying and you notice there is nothing from the waist down, turn to look away and a lump of flesh greets you. A wayward eyeball. A clenched fist. The smell of hatred in the air lingers among the death and destruction.

She is spinning. It’s unbelievable the way the left arm slowly rises, then the right leg raises and tucks in. The spinning continues, a delightful whirl of white topped with a black rope of hair that resembles a propellor. Perfectly executed that your eyes cannot look away. There is nothing else to see. How does she stay balanced? Will she ever stop?

Black boots. Dozens of them all around stained with blood. They move methodically left to right, right to left. From the ground you see the barrels of the guns rise and fall. The shots are deafening. As the bodies fall to the ground some move about from the extra bullets they receive. Everything is dusty, hectic and bright flashes of light mix with crimson blood. The boots keep moving. Will they ever stop?

She has nearly stopped moving. Poetic gestures that surely heal all wounds flow from her arms and through her fingertips. Gentle and slow the movements continue as she folds into herself. Lowering herself to the ground, the air still, she unfolds until she is positioned on her side. Head propped up tenderly by her radiant hand and elbow, she looks straight ahead. Though her eyes remain still, it’s obvious she sees everything around her. It is pure bliss to look at her. Quiet, peaceful, her simple beauty is the embodiment of serenity. 

There is only fire in the sky. Unrelenting blasts of wind so strong anything that appeared to have physical form evaporates instantly. As far as the eye can see from east to west, from north to south there is only fires. Sonic waves of sound punctuate though the clouds. All is rapidly disappearing, leaving a barren, scorched patchwork where life was bustling moments earlier. A frightful silence fills the now vacant space, pulsing every so slightly. Perhaps it’s the millions of souls ascending from the ruins. There is no beauty, no peace…there isn’t anything. Not even a memory remains, only a void.

Where is she? Please! Come back and dance!

Fred Vee