The Collective

Her body was like constantly moving art. As she danced, her motions fluid, one could only look in awe at the alien beauty of this girl. She seemed.... so inhuman--angelic--some other-worldy being not fit for our mortal eyes to behold. But behold her we did, and in such amazing silence we did so. We, a ruthless gang of bloodthirsty kids, had never been so quiet in our short lives. It was as if someone had put us all on mute, and now all we could do was gape soundlessly at her. The soft, steady music, though beautiful, seemed unworthy of her body.
She danced, seemingly unaware of the eyes watching her all the while. She moved with such serenity, that the fight in all of us seemed to die out right then and there. That she could move with such beauty in this marred, ugly world was overwhelming. She danced on and on for what seemed like hours. And we watched; unmoving and silent we seemed like horrible effigies of the bloodthirsty city that we all lived in. And she, she was the liquid masterpiece of what could be-- what we could make of this city-- if we might just love one another.
It was amazing really, this girl that had been with us for the past seven years, yet had never really been one of us. Not one of us had known she was a Dancer. Not one of us had cared enough to ask. Though, now that we all knew, it was as obvious as her bright blonde hair in the dim light of the tunnels. She often spoke of things none of us really understood, nor cared to contemplate about. Of religion and rebellion, of Gods, of God, of angels and demons, of math and art, of the stars and what lies beyond our city, of poetry, of laughter, of pain, and of death. She spoke more than anyone in our band; really, she was an annoyance and we ignored her or beat her till she stopped talking. But she was also the most caring in our group. Even though we had all beat her once or twice --some more than that-- if any of us were to be injured, she was the one to help. In this every-kid-for-himself city, that was a rare and often laughed at attribute.
She was a Dancer.
The gravity of that sentence hit me so hard I couldn't breathe. Dancer. They would come to kill her soon and -- because we had associated with her for the past seven years-- they would kill us too. Dancer. There was nowhere to hide from them, they could find you anywhere. They had technology that no other person in the city had. Dancer. They would find her, kill her, then come after us. Dancer. I couldn't let that happen. Not to my gang.