dance of life

Eagerly making her way up the staircase, the long, lavishly immaculate white gown with a pale pink sash barely scraped the crisp, marble surface. She forced the great wooden doors open and immediately grinned. Her amber eyes gazed at the elegant chandeliers and magnificent paintings which converted the ceiling into a mural, yet she was more intrigued by the harmonious rhythm of a waltz that gradually reverberated through the corridor. She swayed slightly, allowing the melody to encompass her body and before she could conceptualize her reality, she was pushed into the mix of dancers. Panic struck her gentle facade before she could acclimate herself to the beat, and soon found her footing within the three-fourths step count. Dresses simultaneously undulated from the gracious lifts into the air as though the dancer's movements followed a predetermined route, like a music box with a magnetic ballerina; rotating similarly, and never straying from the path. Continuing in the circular pattern, she felt at ease and floated harmoniously with her agreeable partner. Whisked in different directions, never having moved so lightly, the waltz felt just as comfortable as a walk.

Her partner spun her three times and the innocent giggle filled with the spirit was interrupted as she returned to a flat-footed position, faced with a new partner. Before asking questions, her hands resumed to the spot before they fell and she was waltzing again, yet with a faster tempo. The white dress now adorned with charcoal hues and a tattered sash, rotated in a frenzy as her legs were unable to keep pace. Her heart raced, quicker with each step. She was focused. Left up. Right side. Left side. Right up. Spin. The twirls were forcibly faster and doubt clouded her ability. The bright smile that beamed with passion, no longer prevalent, now molded into a grimace transfixed on finishing the dance. Spinning around the circular ballroom, the waltz gained speed with each revolution and she was thrown to the next partner. The never-ceasing cycle caused the once pure white dress to tatter further and darken until becoming a mournful black. Hands flailing and legs cascading beneath her, she tumbled into the middle of the dancefloor. Attempting to balance her against the cold marble floor with wobbling arms, she lay defeated. As though encircling her, the dancers continued to follow the pattern of the music box, never skipping a beat, refusing to misstep.