Prosa, The Dance Room

The Dance Room (part II)

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For part I, read here.

Black world, grey in between, white sun. The light gives shades through the windowpanes, the bars shadows moving as the sun getting higher, like traces of forest the city had once been. It is the day of the sun indeed. Kids rise and shine with their parents or nanny watching them play in the park or swimming in the pool of the apartment. Most people are still asleep after a long saturday night: partying, hanging around with friends and/or lover, or simply weeping for a dead future husband, fetishizing the smell on his shirt.

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Prosa, The Dance Room

The Dance Room (part I)

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She opens the door. Her apartment is pitch black. She turns the lights on. Her world is black and white. She wears black: black dress, black shoes, black scarf.

Obviously, somebody just died. Like the color in her eyes, the lines on her face. Everything’s black and white and grey. Grey as in between. Her body is the vessel in between. She wants to cross over, but she hesitate. Is life worth living?

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