Dance with death

He looked deep into my eyes, reached out his hand and held mine in his. Slowing pulling me onto the dance floor. The music filled the air circling the room. Twisting and turning as I was lead across the floor. The touch of his skin caressing my bare arms, drawing symbols with his hands on the arch of my back. Leaning in and pressing his lips against my ear humming the beautiful sound that we moved as one with, sending chills down my spin as I got lost in his voice.

My heart skipped a beat as the butterflies arose in my stomach, flattering around as the back of his hand slowly ran its way down the side of my neck… his hand opened, grasping around my neck, pushing me against the wall, smashing my heart as he did so. The cold icy tips of his fingers scrapping up my arms and down my back drawing blood that flowed out of me like the running water of the cool Niagara Falls. The butterflies in my stomach dropped dead in a pit of darkness that now swirled inside me. His skin snow white, his eyes blackened and hollowed by the despair and sorrow he inflicts on others, and his lips pale blue and frozen lip those on a corpse. He leaned in closer, hand holding my neck tighter, heart rate going slower…breathing becoming harder…one last kiss of his icy lips on mine- and then…darkness.



Everything seems fine. Everything seems still and calm. Your happy.

But then a breeze starts, nothing big, just a gentle wind moving through the air. Circling your body, softly touching your face and your chest.

Soon the breeze picks up. Its become’s faster and stronger. Its starting to move trees and create waves in the ocean. As the wind gets stronger the waves get bigger. Bigger and bigger until there crashing on rocks, spraying salt water onto the land.

Wave after wave becomes more mammoth. Smashing cars, cracking the foundations set on decade old houses, and crumbling new establishments. Memories from peoples lives being washed away by the once docile sea, down streets that pave the way for everyone’s journeys.

The wind dies down and the sea regresses to its original pace- white horses slowly running once again as the waves rise and fall onto the coast line. Everything is gentle again, but if you look around everything that was made, every wall that was put up has been cracked—broken. It can try and be put back together again but there will always be signs that it was broken.

Once something is broken it can’t be fixed- it can be left, go on to better things or can be destroyed even more by the slight cracks that have made their way into its strong foundations. But there will always be pain, always be hurt where happiness once stood tall and strong- there will always be aftermath at the end of a storm.