A Matter of Inspiration

Lost Light

He kept his eyes on the velvet back of the seat in front of him. He didn't need to look at the stage to know what was happening. The music told the story and he could feel the echo of it in his own body.

That had been him, once upon a time. He had been the one with the bright light beating down on him, hot and heady. It had been his body guided by the music, pulled and cajoled, taunted and coaxed into shapes beautiful and terrible.

Shapes that had become painful.

But it wasn't the pain that had stopped him from dancing.

It had been the darkness. It had been the quiet. It had been the wilt of the flowers and the slow, creeping realization that nothing lasted forever. His passion had slipped away, dripping like a leaky faucet as the dance failed to enthrall him. 

He'd broken down the first time this realization had come to him. He'd fallen to his knees immediately after shutting the door to his apartment, sobs shaking him when he realized the music didn't move him anymore, he simply moved to the music.

It had been months before he finally understood that there was no reclaiming what he'd lost. Months spent forcing himself to go to the studio. To eat and drink and stretch and exercise and practice in all the ways he was supposed to.

All the while, that knowledge continued to chip at his heart.

You don't love it anymore. It doesn't love you anymore.

But it was all he had. Dance had been his life for years. He'd clung to it by the very tips of his fingernails. He wouldn't just abandon it like it had meant nothing, because it meant everything.

Until it didn't.

He still didn't understand how such a thing could happen. How you could become so indifferent to something you had once loved so deeply. How it could cease to move you.

That's why he was here now, watching Swan Lake. It was a test.

By the third act, he still couldn't tell if he was passing or failing.

No envy had filled him at Siegfried's appearance on stage. The swell of music hadn't electrified his bones—not even once. The gracefulness of Odette hadn't stolen his breath as it was supposed to. He hadn't even particularly minded the small stumbles he'd noticed by the prince's mother. 

It was a lovely ballet. It was well executed. The music was beautiful. The dancers were talented.

More importantly, they were passionate.

Talent and skill and practice only carried you so far in this world. Passion was what counted in the end.

And he had lost his.

So now he was here, sitting in the dark, unseen by those in the light.

When the last swells of music echoed through the theater and the dancers had taken their last bows, he shrugged into his jacket and made his way toward the door. The chilly wind nipped at him as he made his way around to the back of the building, keys jangling in his hand.

Bright light poured over him as a door was opened, a gaggle of performers spilling into the street.

One of them—a young man with dark hair—accidentally bumped into him.

"Rothbart," he said without thinking.

The younger man blinked once, stopping mid-apology. He nodded, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Where you part of the audience?" Rothbart asked.

"Yes," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

"Did you..." Rothbart's question trailed off, his brow furrowing as he stared. "Do I...know you?" he finally asked.

He paused a moment, waiting for pride to swell through him. When it didn't he simply said, "I enjoyed the show. You're all very talented." He cast his eyes to the concrete. "All very passionate," he murmured.

Rothbart startled when he looked up again suddenly. He gripped the younger man's shoulder. "Don't lose that," he said, his voice low and forceful. "There's nothing worse than losing that."

Before he could say anything really alarming, he let go of Rothbart and stepped around him, heading toward his car.

"I won't," Rothbart suddenly called out behind him. "How could I?"

How indeed?

A grim little smile twitched at his mouth as he got into his car. 

That was easy enough to say when the glow of the spotlight was still lovely. You couldn't see into the darkness that way.

Written for Avadel Community's May contest. The theme was darkness and I chose Prompt 2: "He knew the law of such things: people in brightly lit places cannot see into the dark." -From The Winner's Curse by Marie Rutkoski (a really good book, if you haven't read it).

With a little help from BTS's Black Swan for inspiration ;)

Word Count: 725