The dancers danced. Nine women spinning with such precision they could have been on a single pinhead.
Their feet looked like they were in matching red shoes. Glimmering. Wet. Spilling forth.
The dancers danced.
The spectators watched – transfixed, stuck, salivating.
No music played.
The women moved together, splashing their feet.
Moving their hands deftly.
Time and space seemed to ripple around them.
The women danced as their feet bled.
The spectators watched as their eyes bled.
Snow came down in soft clouds, sticking to torn flesh.
The dancers danced and the world burned.
The dancers spun faster together as the flames grew higher and closer.
The dancers danced as their feet bled, but the flames did not harm them.
The spectators screamed as they burned, but they couldn’t stop watching.
Snow mixed with ash and blood and the nine women danced.