My dance

My Dance

This time was different.  I was flying but not dancing.  That point between sleep and wake, pirouetting wildly through clouds, floating adgio over streams of air. I felt alive, free, exhilarated.  My dance.

I had asked others if they dreamed that way.  They told me no, they did not dream. They did not have the time. I laughed. Everyone dreams!  Maybe they just couldn’t remember. 

This time was different.  My arms jerked uncontrolled ugly rhythm. The dance of a marionette.  Rising slowly, upwards, leg aloft, arabesque, I saw others, pulled in various directions by near invisible wire.  All succumbed gracefully, eyes shut, hooked by an invisible master.   Except me.  My chains tugged, yanked harder, staining white wool clouds with blood rain.  My silent screams of pain unheard.

Exhausted, I could fight no more

I now understood why others do not dream. I knew I would not dance my dance again.

 

150 Words

  

Vanessa L Lester 22.07.2014  http://anonymouslegacy1.wordpress.com/2014/07/15/visdare-70-aloft/