He tightens his corset until he can barely breathe and adjusts the suspenders on his long smooth legs before sitting down at a cluttered dressing table. He looks into the dirty mirror and paints a layer of dark red lipstick over his soft lips.
Show time.
He slips his petit feet into a pair of old louboutins and leaves the dressing room into the backstage area. He shifts his body until he finds his starting position and waits anxiously behind the velvet curtain.
A younger version of Luke walks up the small pathway leading to the small four bedroom house where He lives with his family. He reaches the front door and searches for his keys in the pocket of the grey sweatshirt he's wearing. He puts the dull key into the lock hole and turns it.
The curtain opens and the spotlights all point on him, the fierce light burning onto his bare skin, melting away his confidence. He scans over the crowd, trying to find that one particular man.
The front door opens and bright lights shine over him, the flames engulfing the contents of the boys house throw their heat towards him and He feels his body temperature rise rapidly. He frantically searches the remains of the burning house for his mother.
Then He sees him. Sat at the back of the room at a table filled with rich looking men in suits drinking whiskey and smoking thick cigars. He looks Luke in the eye and nods gently.
Then He spots her, crumpled in a ashen heap on the kitchen floor. He call for her, she turns her head and looks at him softly before her eyes roll back into her head and her breathing stops.
That's when the music starts blaring, Luke can barely hear himself think but the show must go on.
That's when He hears his dad and brothers screaming from upstairs. He can hardly breathe but He is full of adrenaline and must find them.
His body sways softly to the music, feeling like a puppet on strings with the dark eyes of his boss burning holes through him. He starts the routine, dancing in time with the beat.
He sprints up the stairs, feeling like he's been trapped in an oven at 300°c. He can feel sweat rolling down the side of his cheek as He follows the screams of his family. Quickening his pace, He runs into his parents room.
Now comes the finale. He does his final movements before freezing in position. The cheering of the crowd envelops his senses and He smile boldly as the curtains close for the final time that night.
There they are. Lifeless on the floor. White spots blur his vision and the sound of nearing sirens envelops his senses. He runs back downstairs and leaves through the back door. He can't bare to face the firemen or police telling me him that his whole family are dead and that He has nothing left. He runs into the streets and slumps down against a scummy brick wall down a dark alley. Then the realisation of it all hits him and He cries for the first time that night.
