The Dancer Who Lived

There once was a dancer who truly lived. Each night when the spotlight shone above her wildly untamed hair she would come alive. She would leap and prance and twirl upon those rickety wooden panels, fragile with old age and abandon. And when she is up there every second would feel like a swiftly passing eternity, never ending but finite, beautiful but macabre, light but agonizing all the same. The dancer felt like she owned the world, like she was the only one that mattered and that time was nothing but an illusion. She would continue to dance to music that played over and over again in her head. Then just as quickly as it began, the stage lights dimmed and all was over. She opened her eyes and looked into the audience only to find the old janitor who lingers in vain nostalgia.The world was still.The dancer walked across the rickety wooden panel, the creaking stalks her steps, and she would wait for tomorrow to come back to life.

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