• "Your kindness is a poison. People like me will only feel pain whenever you show me an alien emotion."

    - Tenri
    _______

    Dancing...

    It is an instinct to me.
    The flow of movements intertwined with a rhythmic beat describing a story that words cannot fully explain defined who I was. My most successful dance happened when I was quite young. Six years young to be exact. I titled it, "A Dance With the Angels." It is a dance I am no longer proud of. As beautiful as fountains with angels engraved within their basin, a dance such as mine should never be repeated.

    I can clearly remember the abhorrent dance.
    It was I, alone upon a heavenly stage, millions of angels as my partners. Two batons were all I had. The heavenly host were my audience and my partners.
    I stood...
    stance set...
    eyes focused...
    waiting for the instruction of my teacher to start...


    Begin...

    The music was mine to make he says.
    Tap them on any part of the body before they touch you he says.
    Slide the baton across their body and a ribbon will appear he says.
    You were made for this moment.... he says.

    I start. A step forward towards the nearest host. I touch his shoulder, rotate my body, and slide the baton across his chest. I stopped with a foot forward and staring at hushed angels around me. A ribbon did appear. It followed my baton's path but quickly disappeared. The angels were silent. They must've been awed by my dance and dissapointed at how quickly the ribbons disappeared. I remember thinking...

    I must dance more. The show has started.

    So I continued. The angels were in synch with my movements, slowing down to the point where they let me block their batons and allow me to touch them with mine and allow me to slide across their body. A ribbon formed again and it flew onto the chest of another angel. I chased after it touching the edge of the ribbon with my own baton. As I assumed, the ribbon continued. My goal was to try and keep the ribbon from disappearing. Dancing turned to art. Each brushstroke fluidly followed by another. A rough stroke across the canvas of an angel, a twirl of the brush on a new piece, a sleight of hand to turn and paint another, and a rapid succession of whirls created a cyclone of ribbons that caught the eyes of the angels.

    I looked into one of the eyes of an angel near me and saw a hint of fear. It was a beautifully scripted performance was what I believed. The angels danced up a flight of stairs - my cue to follow. More angels swooped down with more wings than I could perceive. Their movements were swifter. The dance was close to the climax. An allegro speed only increased the adrenaline pumping through my body. A flurry of ribbons and feathers, a sight to behold, flooded that area of Heaven. The rain created by my dance continued until I reached the final stage, one that my teacher called, the Hall of God. Angels were gathered all around, all of different shapes, faces, and races.

    They must be here to see me dance!

    I smiled at my audience and did a small curtsy. Then I continued.

    A trail of a single ribbon was my greatest accomplishment. I was at the final stage, therefore I needed to make sure that I amazed the crowd. I shut my eyes and let my other senses control me. My movements reached their peak and I was a tempest amidst my partners. I could hear my teacher singing me praises from the side.

    Splendid Tenri!
    Such beautiful footwork!
    You were truly made for this moment!

    The music had stopped. I open my eyes and see a newly carved fountain spewing crimson fluid. Angels were engraved on it's base. I believe I thought back then that my audience left this beautful fountain for me as a gift for my amazing dance. I was thrilled but my teacher told me that I was not finished. The most important viewer was waiting for me inside.

    This sparked a flame within me.
    My angelic hosts were no match.
    After I show this dance to this last viewer, this dance would be a legend.
    The footwork, the ribbons, the scenery.... all would be remembered as an abomination.

    A few days later, I learned that batons do not have sharp edges.


    Part 1/2 Complete