The Pretty Poison

PART 19 - Symbolic Dance: The Dance of Poison

PART 19 – Symbolic Dance: The Dance of Poison

Quiet rings in the ears of the imaginary audience. They watch the unlit stage, waiting desperately for the performance. Their anticipation grows softer and softer as the lights are raised. A hush of demand befalls upon them.

The increasing glow reveals a fog pouring in from the wings and dripping off into the bottomless orchestra pit. The dancers hide well beneath its embracing blanket. Their sides press into the staging, shivering them in the smallest of ways. The lightening mist exposes them to be folded in to protect themselves, much like a child hiding from a nightmare. They surround the two dancers lying center stage.

The man wears not but white pants, contrasting the black tribal tattoos curling from the waistline. He lies flat beneath the girl everyone looks to. She differs from the other three. Her torso drapes over her love, letting her light brown hair cascade to the floor. Her hazel eyes remain shut. Assumed by her looks, her story is rather tragic. She is covered with burns and damaged skin but her face remains as light as the disfiguration will allow.

Silence. The music begins.

Piano and guitar tones press softly into the air. The company starts the composition with beautiful simplicity, setting the beginning rhythm. Upon the chords’ resonance, the burned girl lifts her form from the man lying on the ground. There is small smile hidden behind grief. Her arm reaches for the ceiling as she gets to her feet.

A fourth harmonized chord. She is on pointed toes. She pirouettes to the violin’s longing cry and arches her back with the weight of her arms. No one would think someone so scarred could perform so elegant. Yet here she dances.

Beauty emanates from the strokes of her steps. She dances over and around her love turning with care not to step upon her fellow performers. Her gown flows airily around her body, feeling like that of her innocence. She is free and light.

Beside her, the man begins to rise. His arms are taunt, ready to strike. He sits forward with the girl unaware. A lunge to the audience. A breath of care and peace. When she falls back, he is there to hold her. His arm snakes its way to her waist and caresses her hip. She learns to love him and her fingers lay themselves on his chest.

The couple does not move from center stage. The rest of the dance floor is blocked by the three lying in fetal position. They have not stirred. Their presence is not yet needed.

The girl spins in his grasp on pointed toes. She reaches to the ceiling, guided by his hand. He is her lover and the only she will ever love. But his severe turns and grips are alarming. You can see it even upon her face. The burned girl struggles to embrace the harshness of her partner.

On a painful spin, she falls to her knees. The sound of the impact echoes in the empty seating. But her love brings her back from her feet and continues their dance. The music reflects their quickening steps and soon all love is lost from the scarred face.

With a particularly aching lift, the girl falls unconscious. The man cradles her limp body in his arms with woe. He walks around a stilled dancer with purposeful steps to the left. He places her upstage and becomes still for the momentary lapse in his story.

A disregarded girl moves. Her legs uncurl from her chest and soon she is on her feet. Her light brown hair is tied back into a playful ponytail, making her appear even younger than the rest. A cheerful smile is spread upon her lips as well as a child’s happiness in her eyes. The man takes sight of her and returns to the center. They begin. The young girl is whisked away into his grip leaving the burned girl forgotten.

She jumps into his arms and presses her cheek to his chest. Her love for him is simple and pure yet she knows she must become someone else to be entirely his. Her feet touch ground and leap away from the middle. She tries to become what he wants and dances downstage right. A kneel to the floor. She stares out into the spotlight, being nothing but the innocent beauty.

Another stirs on the floor. A girl with splintered skin. Her electric blue eyes are visible, even from the farthest row back. She scans through the blinding spotlight. There is no grace within her steps, only power. She turns back and pulls the man to her attention. A grin of arrogance play on both lips. Their hands find the other’s neck and grabs with ferocity. Not fondness, but masochistic ardor. A dip to the floor, a sharp turn. The splintered girl pulls the hand of the man out towards the left wing. She hurries and leans at the curtain, waiting for the one who will keep her twisted longing satisfied.

The man ignores her and wakes the last of the dancers. The girl’s face is painted like that of porcelain and her hands are swathed in lace. He positions her as he wants her to be. She stands like the ballerina of a jewelry box, graceful yet unmoving. The trickster man wraps a hand around her neck. She is fresh. She is pure. He will tarnish her.

The youngest girl returns to her love ignoring the statuesque dancer. A gentle caress. He returns to affection, leaving the one at the curtain in heartbreak. A malicious thought crosses her face before she flees the scene in livid sorrow.

Back to center stage, the girl starts to fear. Her lover becomes overpowering and undoes the ties to her hair. His arm sweep around her shoulders and makes her witness the audience. It is shame and humiliation. It is also acceptance. He changes her view and she is to follow.

Scared steps and forced by angry ones. It is a dance of alarming brutality. She must obey. His grasp on her mind is too strong.

The man covers her hazel eyes with tender hands. The youth continues to dance blind, led by her partner. As long as she looks not at him, he will be forever gentle. She falls into his arms and remains sightless.

A last lift. A small cry. She opens her gaze as he sweeps her around in his arms. Landing right beside her, the girl looks upon the still dancer. She has not moved since the man had placed her. The young one reaches to touch the porcelain skin but her wrist is wrenched away. The startled one looks deep into the soul of a regretful monster as the music fades into the air.

The imaginary audience becomes restless, unsatisfied as the curtains close. The last glimpse of the stage leaves only one dancer alive.

As her final act, the porcelain girl begins to breathe. She bows before the closed curtain and lifts her arms to accept her ending fate. Unanticipated by the viewers, she dives into the orchestra pit for the last time. The grey fog consumes her without a sound and the final lights dim.

The dancer is gone. And so goes the dancing.