The Dance

A seemingly simply night.

“The Dance”


The day was ending: the last rays of light dancing over the statuettes of the house. Every marble face stared at the mismatched couple that danced in the center of the room. The man stumbled slightly, laughing as he glanced at the woman, who shared the moment with a quiet giggle. The statuettes observed, a few of which silently made their criticisms, whilst others offered advice. A slow, waltzing melody echoed around each corner, filling the room with a fantastic beat, to which the couple moved, one second behind.

            The man’s black jacket displayed the complete opposite of his dancing. It was crisp, clean, groomed and perfectly tailored. Each fiber had been fitted for him; the white linen shirt underneath was bleached.The edge of his pants, running down the center of his legs led to the shoes. Each shoe was polished to the most quintessential level: the shine almost matching that of the lights reflecting off a large mirror sitting in the corner. The statuettes knew this routine, the pristine cleanliness of the room, every inch of the floor bleached clean and polished. They observed the couple as they came to the end of the dance. A small childlike statue took great interest in the woman’s dress. She spun slowly, the scarlet silk wrapped around her, accentuating the contours of her body. The man brushed her blonde hair from her eyes, as she moved in close, her lips almost grazing his.

He did not react, smiling as he dipped her low to the ground, effortlessly holding her with one arm. The statuettes chuckled, knowing that he had been practicing this for days. The music came to a stop and the man continued to balance her, raising his other hand around her face, cradling her chin in his palm. She smiled playfully up at him, her long eyelashes batting as she stared into his Caribbean-blue eyes. Seconds passed, as they stayed, motionless, like the statuettes themselves. He, only using an arm to hold her, while she stared up at him all the more joyous as her mind filled with euphoria. Time stopped, the room stopped, the sun stopped and in that moment it was only them.

A new song began to play. Every tune that drifted out was soft, reassuring and slow. He raised her up, chuckling to himself, as she stared yearningly at him. The statuettes turned to the table, excitedly waiting for the couple’s movement.

The couple crossed the room. The statuettes examined the setting they found themselves in. The room was an expanse, slightly smaller than that of a ballroom. The marble floor, they walked across, was embedded with ornate gold symbols. Pillars, spanning the room every five feet, frilled with gold flowers would sprout from the ground, disappearing into the ceiling. The man neared one of these pillars as the couple walked towards a large ancient dining table, designed only for two, and plucked a gold flower from the wall. The statuettes were astounded wondering if in fact he had broken the flower or if they were made to do that. The man handed the flower to the woman and as she looked upon it, it opened revealing a small rose petal.

They arrived at the table, the man pulling out a chair and motioning for the woman to sit. Her girlish smile crept back on her face, the chivalrous charm taking its effect. Happily, she laid the napkin on her lap allowing the aromas of seared lamb, combined with the harsh scent of garlic wafting from underneath the tray. He lifted the lid slowly allowing the steam to flow out away from the woman in case it would burn or startle her. He took his place at the other end of the table, and lifted his own tray. Before her were three lamb cutlets still on the bone, seared to perfection and glazed with a red sauce godly before her eyes. He nodded for her to start and she dug in heartily, sampling everything. The lamb, which she sliced into with her knife, gave way without the slightest resistance; the bloody juices flowing onto the plate, mingling with the steaming side of asparagus and staining the mashed potatoes to deep red. She ate till she was sated, the statuettes noting how voracious her appetite was, some offering comments of acting un-lady like, and others applauding the man upon his perfect cooking.

He ate slowly, watching her eat his food with a humble and beseeching look for approval in his cooking. He received it with her wide eyes and sounds of euphoria. He stood and pulled a red wine bottle out of its holder. He uncorked it with ease, allowing it to sit and breathe. Both man and woman continued to eat, slower now, opening space to talk. She noted the table, large and highly polished. The silverware gleamed from the light of the chandelier above sending a silver sheen upon the tablecloth. He poured her wine, and with a raising of his glass to the fantastic night she has given him, they drank. She was finally sated allowing the man to raise her up. The statuettes watched as he escorted her from the table, sitting her down upon a crimson, velvet sofa. The sun had set and yet they continued talking, the man intently listening to every phrase that came out of her mouth. Hers eyes began to droop and she insisted that she should be going.  He stood with her, beseeching her to listen to one more thing. She agreed. He knelt down leaning on one knee, he reached down; the woman’s head began to spin a result of astonishment and weariness She let out a sharp gasp of breath, contemplating what her answer would be.

Blackness began to crowd in around her, and her sight tunneled inward. She looked down at him, and through the daze she wondered what is taking him so long. She noticed a pair of black, rubber boots that she had never seen before. He was just finishing tying them up. He glanced upward smiling at her while she stumbled to the sofa. He was no longer wearing the soft smile he had before. His grin was sadistic, and the eyes shifted from the Caribbean-blue to a dull grey. She struggled on the sofa attempting to get up but finding that she was too weak. Her sight just caught the glimpse of the wine sitting on the table, noting that his glass was completely full. The statuettes watch as the man pulled of his jacket and tied a white surgeon’s apron around his waist. He strolled over to the table and drew a plastic tarp from underneath the white tablecloth.  The woman’s last sight was of the man gliding towards her and laying the plastic tarp out along the ground. She blacked out. The statuettes watched, the grins on their face wide, all of them applauding in silence.

The End

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