Harriot sat in a metal folding chair during ballet practice. The walls were made of reflective glass with a horizontal pipe hugging their glossy surface. There was a window on the far wall facing him. On the windowsill sat a daisy in a red pot. The daisy flirted with a breeze, subtly rocking with every blow of its advances. The frills of a tutu caught his eye, the blast of an explosion captured and recreated. Thin slippers glided across the floor of the room. All together there were seven ballet dancers, including the instructor. The girls grasped the pipe in their hands while practicing plies. The instructor wore a gray sweater over her leotard. Harriot was accompanied by a carload of perky mothers eagerly watching their child's first lesson of ballet. One of the mothers asked Harriot about his presence, but was greeted with a face without answer. Harriot stared at the instructor, her black hair fell in curls down to her neck where it was bundled together with a clip. The clip resembled Toto with Dorothy's red slipper in its mouth. She glanced at Harriot by accident. She meant to read the clock on the wall, but was met by Harriot's eyes. She felt something strange when she stared at him. She forgot her reasoning for looking in his direction and just froze. It was a total of five seconds that they shared a glance. After that, a girl tripped and smacked against the cement floor. The instructor swooped to the girl and helped her up, asking if she was alright. When she looked up from the girl, Harriot was in the middle of the room. His arms were moving like the waves of an ocean and just as beautiful. Even the mothers were surprised. His legs twisted and took sharp steps before calmly shifting from one position to the next. Watching him dance before them gave the same impression of an orchestra symphony. He spun, fast, arms gripping onto invisible wires above their heads, pulling them around his body like a blanket. At the moment of his finale, Harriot pulled to an eternal stop, leaving his masterpiece forever unfinished. He walked through the doorway without turning to look at his audience. The door shut behind him like the one in his subconscious. He never danced again.