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A Dance in Time

430 words to 3,642 words following ➥ links.

Fog rolls through the woods. Within the murk, red splashes airborne droplets. A flash, and another, slicing between trees, each pass of a strobe spraying a red mist, the dragon’s steaming blood rolling on the currents, disappearing into her frothy breath.

Near the sepulcher, over on the dusty walking path, fog swirls into itself, floating back against the breeze, and darkens into smoke. A moist boot-print darkens the dirt. Stepping through the veil, a dark figure arrives, each step expends a dark cloud dissipating into the air.

Writhing inky smoke rises from him. Not smoke, soot maybe. Each step shakes soot free from the specter. The dark grit rises from the wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

Cloaked in darkness, Lord Thyme approaches.

Prepared for the dance, I raise my Colt 1911 handgun.

Silence falls; spectral rain washes the world away. In a breath, the world returns, my feet on a stage and music exploding in my ears.

I play my guitar like my life depends on it.➥ The speakers blast my sound, and I soak up the rumble. The beat pounding, music rushes through my core holding me tight.

I make love to the rhythm.

Purple mist descends upon me and an ethereal fog condenses into ghostly forms.➥ Skyscrapers surround me. Gazing through the pale forms, I see the endless wasteland beyond. A phantom city, apparitions on the sidewalk stroll in slow motion. Colorless, silent cars move on the roadway. Familiar. I think I’ve been here outside a music store. A ghost walks through me—chilling, and she fades away along with the city.

Ice filling my veins, my head throbs. The wraith speaks, not with a voice, but an invading thought penetrating my head sending prickles trickling down my neck.

Kandy, will you bleed for me?

Hell no, not again. Vertigo sends my head spinning within this timelessness.

Misting drizzle soaks streets, automobiles splash through puddles, and the city whispers to the night.➥ Deep percussions beat stone walls, razoring up fire escapes, the muted music calls youth to the door of Club Necropolis.

On the street, fog swirls into itself, floating back against ghostly cars traveling in slow motion, and smolders, automobiles disintegrating. Trees sprout up through the mist, and a sepulcher floats on clouds.

Fog rolls through the woods.➥ Within the haze, red splashes airborne droplets. Stepping through the veil, he reappears. Each step shakes soot free, and dark grit rises from his hat.

Keeping my rhythm, I raise my Colt 1911, and continue the dance.