The Dance

The beat. Struck. Deep.
Rhythm. Pulsed. Through.
Bodies. Dripped. Danced.

The sweat poured from her skin and she did not notice. It made her movements smoother, easier, removing all friction from between her and the world.

She danced.

Lights flashed every colour imagined since neon, a riot of manic patterns coating the room with jilted visions of seconds snapshotted from the ravers’ lives.

The beat struck deep in her bones.

Her arms moved of their own accord, feet dragged willingly on puppet strings of song. She did not dance, the beat danced her.

She was the dance.

No thoughts. No mind. No feeling but pure bliss.

Only the dance.

Her eyes, half open, watching the floor. The floor, moving beneath her, known only by the touch of her feet.

She was the dance.

Then, into her sight, came another pair of shoes.

Feet faced feet, dancing together.

Matched perfectly, dancing in the dance.

The music raised their faces at the same moment and they met, recognising in each other themselves.

They danced together.

Time began, mirrored in each other’s eyes.

They danced in until the lights came up, the sun rose beyond the walls.

The danced out together, fingers entwined, along the beach where the waves began to pound.

They danced together, no longer alone in their world, alone in the dance.

They danced together and a new world was born between them. A world of wonder.

They danced together.

And the world danced too.