Hi Guys!
Enjoy and don't forget to visit the other briefers!
Welcome back to another Wednesday Brief. This might be the beginning of a dark little story... I shall see.The prompts are in bold.
Enjoy and don't forget to visit the other briefers!
Death Dance
He
held his breath. The lighting on the stage changed. The music became soulful, a
sad melody that brought tears to the eyes. He gripped the arm of his chair. His
breath sounded loud in his ears even if he knew that it wasn't and that nobody
cared. His heart thrummed in his chest. His cock twitched as she appeared. Yes.
She ran, no, glided onto the stage. Her movements were perfect, precise,
rehearsed a thousand times over the course of months. They had been drilled
into her.
Nothing
could go wrong. He legs bent on a perfect plié. Then she was up, spinning,
running, escaping. His mouth watered. A perfect grand jete, her legs splitting
in mid air, then before he could blink twice, she was landing on one feet.
Perfect. He couldn't wait to have her. To see her up close, running, attempting
to escape, tears running down her cheeks, the perfect makeup she wore now,
destroyed. Her mouth wouldn't be set in a firm line, no, she'd be crying,
sobbing, dancing as her tears streamed down her face. Fuck. His cock was
swelling, he could feel it pushing against his trousers.
He swallowed. And he
hadn't even seen her eyes up close.
She
performed a perfect circle and threw back her head. Perfect. Precise. Even
though the music and the story unfolding on the stage was tragic there was
beauty in her movements. She loved dancing and it showed in the care she took
to perform every moment with precision. It showed in how capable she was of
transmitting emotion without words, only with her body. He despised actors.
They thought of themselves grand, winning Oscars, golden globes, fame and
money, they knew nothing. Before him, on this modest stage was true beauty. On
this stage a company of ballerinas showed the audience what it was to love and
hate, to lose and win without a single audible word. They created awe and wonder in all that were present just
their bodies, their movements and the music. This, this was true art.
Beautiful,
charming, Marie. She had been good, splendid on that tiny stage in the suburbs.
She had been nobody and yet she had been everything to him. Everything. He closed
his eyes for a brief second as the
pang of the memory hit him against the chest. Her last breath. Every time he
closed his eyes, he saw it, heard it. The light in her brown eyes had died,
evaporated into nothingness as he pressed his fingers harder against her
windpipe. Her death had been as beautiful as her life. Even without life
animating her limbs, her body broken, her neck twisted, she had looked
graceful. Yet, he focused his gaze on the stage once more. Yet, Chiara Hunter,
was more than Marie had ever been.
Chiara was not insignificant. She was a
fighter. Dancing her way up the ballet ranks. She had started in a little
school in Maryland, then moved to New York and danced for a small company and
finally, she was here, still not at the top, but getting there. It wasn't
surprising. The woman beside him was sniffling. Emotions. She was capable of
transmitting such emotion with her movements. He had to act before it was too
late.
********
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