A True Dancer

I watched as she danced. She danced and danced and danced. It was beautiful. She seemed to follow all the right steps, make all the right moves. It was the kind of dance that took years of study to master. Only true discipline and passion could create such a masterpiece. I'd spent so much time making sure this would take place as planned. A twitch of the foot, a flick of the wrist, a spin and a kick. It was amazing. I'd never seen anything so captivating.

I was hoping this would go correctly, but I had never expected this; no one could ever expect something like this, something so mind-blowing. This was the kind of beauty that took guts. Most never saw it. They never had the true privilege of partaking in such a work of art. For this, I was grateful, but I had only myself and the girl to thank. The idea of this dance often turned people away out of fear or disinterest. Other people chose to watch videos online for hours and hours. News stations liked to broadcast these stories, and local papers sometimes headlined if the event sparked enough attention. Nothing compared to seeing it in real time, though, not even my most vivid fantasies.

She twirled again and arched her back, opening her mouth in a silent scream. Her arms stretched out as far as they could in front of her but found nothing to grasp. She curled back up and struck her leg outward in another spectacular move. She pulled an arm toward her chest and grabbed at her neck while the other arm flew past in a full arc from her hip to her head. She flowed like water, and God knows the water wanted to claim her as part of itself. How could anyone ever dance better? How could they? She was already perfection. And I had her all to myself, her only audience. I was blessed with such an opportunity.

Her fingers clawed and her face screwed up in an expression of pure agony. It was incredible. Nothing I had ever seen before could outscore this feeling of enthrallment. This could only have been described as the epitome of art itself. Suddenly, my dancer's movements became more frantic. She kicked and twisted and thrashed about. She moved with purpose and grace. Then, she began to slow, and though I couldn't see it, I knew her eyes rolled back in her head. Oh how wonderful it would have been to witness that crucial detail. My dancer's movements stilled, and her body floated upward.

It wasn't until hours later that the media headlined her performance: Local Woman Found Dead In Pool.