SHORT SHORTS by Tonig73

I WASN'T READY ...

A young man walks along the street as best he can, from where and to where, I do not know, his face contorted with effort, his leg dragging behind him. He pulls on his jeans occasionally as if that might help, feeling self conscious. His arms swing heavily to help aid the effort of just moving along the pavement, but it just gets harder with every second, every minute, every hour that passes. Every time he has to move, to propel himself forward, every effort he makes is to walk without pain. His breath is laboured, and he hangs his head. Every day he has to endure this affliction, and it feels more and more like he can't.

Strangers look at him as he moves awkwardly, as if he shouldn't even be in their space or within their eyesight. He looks at them and just shrugs. What would they have him do exactly ? Smile sweetly, excusing himself in their presence as they make plain their disapproval ? To walk normally ? To disappear altogether ?

He falls, hard. He sits on his ass and rubs his leg, and it hurts, everything just hurts. He wants to cry, but he can't, he won't. He won't let himself, he won't let others see so plainly what his life is like, dragging this useless appendage from pillar to post. He can't leave it, it follows him everywhere, and it makes him feel that his life is useless and pathetic.

He tries to get up, again and again, but it seems as if his other leg is just as useless now. He falls, again and again.

He turns over onto his belly, and crawls, his fingers grappling with the ground, searching for some kind of purchase. The lowest of the low, because he can't get any lower, either physically, spiritually. Emotionally.

He can go no further, so he reaches out to someone, something, dragging his useless legs behind him. To help him, to lift him up, to take him away from this place, from his torture and his hell. From his life.

Suddenly, he stands. He dresses himself in some kind of clothing, a suit, an overall maybe. He dresses himself in his final transformation.

He walks through a door, and his legs work, he can walk, and he feels no pain.

He gazes towards the heavens, a smile on his face, and he dances.

He is whole.

~*~      ~*~      ~*~      ~*~

A young man drags his leg behind him as he walks along the pavement, from where and to where, I do not know. His face is contorted with effort, and he grimaces at this ... thing that will not leave him be. It will not give him one moment's peace, from the pain, from embarrassment, or from his own nightmare.

He falls, hard. Now it seems his legs will not work at all. He sits on his ass and rubs his legs, and they just hurt. They have always hurt, and will always hurt, in many more ways than one.

He tries to drink away the pain, all of it, to numb not only his senses, but his heart. His feelings. He can't deal with these feelings, this pain any longer, and it's killing him.

He does something to his arm, I cannot see what exactly. Some kind of needle ? A knife ? His face relaxes, and he smiles for the first time in what feels like forever. He wobbles erratically, and his body slumps over the useless, immobile legs.

Unmoving.  Absolutely still.

His soul rises from his body, shocked at what lies in front of him. This is me ?  He shakes himself, wake up ! No .... no, this can't be right .... He begs to the heavens for this to be a nightmare, to wake up at any second. He gestures to the sleeping form, and begs his deity to have pity on this poor unfortunate soul. He didn't need or want the pain he felt before, but he realises, he doesn't want this more.

In this now alternate, other reality, he moves, walks, dances normally. His legs work again, and he feels no pain. He smiles for a moment, then looks at the broken body in front of him. He shakes the body again. But this time, it moves.

He wakes, and stands again, looking around him.

He smiles, and he is whole.

~*~      ~*~      ~*~      ~*~

These were their performances at the workshop, and it was so hard to watch.

Not a dry eye in the room, even for themselves.

They hugged each other tightly, crying I'm sure.

Larry walked back across the room, wiping his tears from his face.

"Yeah, OK, you got me." He chuckled.

You've all seen them perform emotional dances before, and wept, as I have no doubt. But to see this, this was on another level .... I'm crying as I write, just remembering what they did in that room that was so emotional. To love them, to feel for them, and to see them in this much pain was overwhelming, for every one. We all realised we were so privileged to witness this.

But, what did it mean, exactly ?

And which story was told by which twin ?

You could easily translate what they danced literally. That a disability could cause a person, in their lowest moments, to not want to be around anymore. To have to deal with that affliction and its repercussions every. single. day.

You could translate it ... metaphorically. That this dance was them, and their trials and tribulations. The haters, their past, their present problems and challenges. Dragging it all along, wishing it to disappear, so they could live their lives like us mere mortals do.

Fear. Fear of not being able to dance one day. Of not being able to let go of the past, when they could. Of a new future without dance, without each other. Would it be better, or worse ? To be seen as different, unusual, not normal. They have been seen as such, and their talent, drive and commitment and eventual success has earned them haters and disapproval for years.

Have they contemplated what they portrayed ? I'm sure they have at some point. And I'm sure they thought it was the one way they could guarantee they would go together, and not be left alone in this world.

(If you haven't already, please go read Lumiere from Lestwins101, then cry at that too. You'll see the correlation between this and her story later.)

Put your own spin on it, you decide, because I sure as hell haven't been able to yet.

I will never forget this.

Ever.

Please, tell me, tell me. More than ever, I need to know your thoughts, your feelings about this one.

How would you have reacted to our loved ones laying their souls bare, leaving everything on the floor ? Performance Art of the absolute highest order.

Life imitating Art, or vice versa.

More to come.

~*~      ~*~      ~*~      ~*~