Two dancers danced.
The dancers, they were tiny. Almost teeny tiny, but not quite. They twisted and they twirled upon an ivory dancefloor, one's arms clinging to the other so that they may spin and not fall.
And when the dancers, they danced, their feet tapped out tinkling notes. Twinkle toes.
And the shadows they cast danced too. Almost teeny tiny stretchy spectres twirling and twirling in the moonlight, on their ivory dancefloor.
Back and forth. Up and down. High and low. Almost to hell and then almost to the moon. Together.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Not their feet. Not their twinkle toes. The dancers stopped. The ringing notes ceased. And into the darkness they sank.
A stark woman enters her living room and closes the lid on the grand piano.
No more dancing.
Created: Sep 27, 2009Document Media