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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