So I created a story, a reason, something to make it real. And added a moral. Because hey, why not?
I'm trying to get a feel for myself here. Trying out some new writing styles. Stuff. Fun. Woot.
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Swirling colors, red and orange, gold and diamonds.
The young man grabbed her hand and pulled her toward himself, wrapping her in his arms, then pushed her away just as quickly. Her dress whipped around her ankles as she perfectly executed the complicated dance steps. She could see he was doing his part, too--the tuxedo jacket flew in the wind as his feet moved rapidly with the beat only they heard.
Underneath the light of a street lamp, the couple danced to silent music.
The young woman was glad that her mother had recommended this prom dress. It was light and flowy, with myriad ruffles and pleats like a flamenco dancer’s attire. The colors blurred together as they danced, his black mingling with her red, the infamous dangerous combination. The steps got harder at this point. Their feet moved like they were walking on hot coals, faster and faster.
Crickets chirruped but neither heard them over the sound of the unheard tune.
He snatched her to himself again, she draped herself backwards over one of his arms, then he pulled her up again and lifted her into the air. She felt like she was flying, a bird, free, away from all harm. He set her down gently and the dance continued on the broken and cracked cement.
The streetlight buzzed. It was late. No one was around to see their masterpiece.
The final steps ensued. Nothing could stop them from finishing. Both had worked very hard to learn the dance, and both knew that this time it was flawless. The man picked her up again, swinging her around, her dress fluttering in the momentum. They were sweating in the cool summer night.
The drops ran down his face. Her earrings jingled.
He set her down like the delicate girl she was and wrapped her in his arms once more. She had her back to him and her arms wrapped around her waist, where he grabbed them. Her head leaned against his shoulder.
Only they knew they had done it.
Laughing, they unwound themselves. “Very good, Clara,” said the man. “You’re getting better!”
“Um, pardon, that was amazing,” she answered, acting mock offended. “We’ve never done it that well.”
The young man gazed around. “No one was watching, either. I wish we could have done it like that when we were on stage and everyone was looking at us.”
“Murphy’s law,” laughed Clara. “Come on, Pete. I need to get home. Thanks for the spontaneous practice!”
Both shared a laugh as they strolled away. The streetlight shone on, oblivious to what had just taken place underneath it.
Sometimes the best things we do go unnoticed, but that doesn’t make them any less beautiful. Even if only you know you did something, fought a personal battle, painted something, wrote something, created your art--it’s yours, and you made it. Just because no one knows doesn’t diminish the fact that it’s a masterpiece.
Agree with the moral? I feel like it's something I can relate to, in the area of personal battles. Sometimes I fight other battles and lose those, and people might notice that I've lost them. But I know that I've won a big personal struggle, and it encourages me to keep going on.
I hope this helps you like it helped me to write it. :)
~~Zoë Wingfeather
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