Death Dances
danse macabre
Living is nothing more than an elaborate dance.
And in the execution of that dance, Life is cursed with flawed steps and clumsy feet. He barely manages to step over the cracks in the cosmos, fumbling and stumbling into existence with great difficulty. Life’s jig is not an easy one, either. It is filled with pot-holes and black spaces intended to keep happiness at bay, to beat the dancer down until they have nothing more to show for their effort other than blistered feet and broken limbs.
As she watched, Death dances alongside Life, her moves lithe and supple through years of practise. Her feet do not slip, nor do they stumble — every move is concisely executed with pristine perfection. Death mirrors the living with absolute certainty, dancing their dance with more precision than is necessary. And she is the one to watch as Life improves his skill, his clumsy steps becoming precise manoeuvres that span the gaps in the universe with little difficulty.
But, as Life ages, the dance quickens and becomes more difficult to master. The accompaniment sells and rises as the steps become more fleeting, rising and falling to match the pace. As Life intensifies, so does Death, her feet moving with speed and precision. In the end, Life has caught up, following Death’s moves with unwavering strength. They intertwine, Life and Death, dancing a merry dance across the cosmos as they embrace.
It is nothing more than a quick two-step that brings Life and Death together, and they dance the grand finale as the music rages on around them. The violins sing a sharp melody as the bass shakes the ground and together, they fight for dominance. As one pushes the other to the edge, the other pushes back, a furious battle of feet and willpower the only thing keeping them connected. It is always inevitable, however, the outcome — Death, with her sheer talent and determination will win, pushing Life into the shadows.
She counts as she dances, tallying her victories. A thousand shimmering stars for every mortal taken, a million pirouettes for every single death that plagues the world of man. And for all of the hardships she has seen, for all of the souls she reaps and for all of the heartbreak she causes, Death still dances a merry dance in her sequins and chiffon, her delicate feet barely touching the ground as she twists and twirls in never-ending circles.
Because after all, dying is nothing more than an elaborate dance.
And in the execution of that dance, Life is cursed with flawed steps and clumsy feet. He barely manages to step over the cracks in the cosmos, fumbling and stumbling into existence with great difficulty. Life’s jig is not an easy one, either. It is filled with pot-holes and black spaces intended to keep happiness at bay, to beat the dancer down until they have nothing more to show for their effort other than blistered feet and broken limbs.
As she watched, Death dances alongside Life, her moves lithe and supple through years of practise. Her feet do not slip, nor do they stumble — every move is concisely executed with pristine perfection. Death mirrors the living with absolute certainty, dancing their dance with more precision than is necessary. And she is the one to watch as Life improves his skill, his clumsy steps becoming precise manoeuvres that span the gaps in the universe with little difficulty.
But, as Life ages, the dance quickens and becomes more difficult to master. The accompaniment sells and rises as the steps become more fleeting, rising and falling to match the pace. As Life intensifies, so does Death, her feet moving with speed and precision. In the end, Life has caught up, following Death’s moves with unwavering strength. They intertwine, Life and Death, dancing a merry dance across the cosmos as they embrace.
It is nothing more than a quick two-step that brings Life and Death together, and they dance the grand finale as the music rages on around them. The violins sing a sharp melody as the bass shakes the ground and together, they fight for dominance. As one pushes the other to the edge, the other pushes back, a furious battle of feet and willpower the only thing keeping them connected. It is always inevitable, however, the outcome — Death, with her sheer talent and determination will win, pushing Life into the shadows.
She counts as she dances, tallying her victories. A thousand shimmering stars for every mortal taken, a million pirouettes for every single death that plagues the world of man. And for all of the hardships she has seen, for all of the souls she reaps and for all of the heartbreak she causes, Death still dances a merry dance in her sequins and chiffon, her delicate feet barely touching the ground as she twists and twirls in never-ending circles.
Because after all, dying is nothing more than an elaborate dance.