Dancing In Darkness

• Janet Chow, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2020

Pieces of me are missing. Literally.

They say I’m perfect, the way I am. They say it with pitied smiles plastered on their faces, but their eyes always linger at the place where my arm should be.

Every time, I just smile and nod at their comments. But every time, I feel something deep inside me stir.

I am NOT perfect. Not even close. No matter how many times they try to convince me.

I will never be perfect. Never.

Sometimes I see Darkness. Sometimes he comes to play with me. Sometimes he tortures me, long into the soundless hours of the night.

I really can’t help it. He always comes uninvited.

Except….except….when I’m dancing, everything just fades away. Sadness flows out of my fingertips when I dance, replaced by a real sense of calm. A real sense of almost….happiness. Even with only one arm, I feel the beat within me. It’s like a flame, urging me to take the next step. Then the next step.

When I’m dancing, I feel like a bird. A bird that can fly, all around the world, non-stop. There’s only me, and the space around me. And if I try hard enough, it’s almost like I can hear the girls in portraits at the back of the room - all cheering for me.

I am powerful, carefree, unstoppa-

My legs turn jelly. The whole world spins. Last thing I hear? “Call the ambulance!”

My mother’s anguished wail throbs my heart.
…
.
.


I look around. There’s white everywhere. Beds, walls, floors. All eerily white.

It almost feels like it has seen too many bad memories - and lost its colour.

The doctor’s footsteps echo in the doorway, each step getting louder. I feel dark, heavy butterflies in my stomach, as he invites himself, walking through my door.

I swear I see the wall turn just that little paler, like it is bracing for bad news.

I guess the wall was right.

The doctor just told me.

I can’t ever dance again. Never.

It is at that moment, I see my friend.

Darkness.

And I welcome him.