Dance on Tombstones

She smoothed the dress on his body and tried to take the first step. She didn't even need music anymore, she had it in her head, and she always heard it there. The music and that black dress, the floor of the stage and that terrible pain, were her clichés of every day... for months. She started to turn, but it was hard, very hard. She moved like a disjointed doll, without any grace. Everything was forced and wrong. Even a mechanical ballerina would move better than her. The first pirouette followed, then the second and the third. She took off and jumped... She had to jump high... very high. She saw the spotlight again and fell down. She woke up on the floor in the same position: with her head on her knees and her leg twisted under her. Only the pain was missing. She felt absolutely nothing. For a long time, she didn't feel any other pain... only that pain from that evening. She was wrong... Again she was wrong... Tears were dripping down her bare leg and they were lost one by one in the soft plush of the carpet. Now, she knew that she would never be able to dance again... Only then she felt that howl of a wounded beast in her throat.