15 More Stories from the Oak

The Dance of Webs

Day 352- The Dance of Webs

The girl sits, pretending not to notice, eyes staring towards the ceiling, while the mind stares at the empty dance floor. She picks out a spot, right near the middle, and claims it. It is hers, and no others. Calm exterior, chill as a waterfall frozen, but full of whirlwind emotions on the inside.

He walks over, the one she has chosen for her own, claimed, but told no one. Her flag rests firmly in him, and he is not aware. She quickly locks eyes, and he is lost. Her waterfall cracks, and bursts forth, flowing over him. He freezes in her waters, unblinking his eyes thirst no more. She has him, she has him, and he did not even know it. He attributes it to her beauty, the reason his feet approach her, but he does not see the silver spiderweb net she knit around his legs. Does not see the puppets strings attached to his wrist as he offers his hand for the dance. She accepts, smiling as if not expecting the great pleasure.

They twirl around the floor, like a woman dancing in front of a mirror, he mimics her every move. Flawless as glass, they whisk and spin, dip and dive, twist and shine. The eyes, they do not move, for she has him, and he has been lost. He has been lost, he holds the small of her back, but she holds his soul, right between her dainty forefinger and blunt thumb.

The music, it stops, abruptly in the middle of a note. They both fall off the cliff of the dance, and find themselves awkwardly holding too tightly, too closely, and with too much passion. His eyelashes flutter, blinking once more, like a newborn, and she has lost him. Lost him, as hard as she once had him, lost him, and away he falls, she standing in the middle of the dance floor alone, rooted.

He moves away, elegantly as he came, and she stands. Reaching out one limb, she goes limp inside though her exterior holds up like the carcass of a spider. She never had him.

Not once, not at all, she only had herself, and even then, only by the nape of the neck.