Drabble Post: Dancer in the Dark
More comment_fic / further lonely!prompts love, this time for straydog733. Prompt was 'Animorphs, Loren, Dancer in the Dark' First posted here.
"We dance for laughter, we dance for tears,
we dance for madness, we dance for fears,
we dance for hopes, we dance for screams,
we are the dancers, we create the dreams."
Loren has become quite used to darkness over the years, but it doesn’t swallow the vague memories of the light before it- not of specific people’s faces, maybe, but of shapes, colors (blue, primarily), what certain sounds look like as they happen- from before the accident.
Sometimes, she thinks she remembers the way it looks when wind swirls and swings playfully through tree branches and makes the leaves shiver in corresponding delight.
Other days, Loren recalls the way ocean foam looks as it ceaselessly mambos up and down the sandy coast line she might once have known like the back of the hand she can no longer see.
Today she clicks on her small, cheap and excessively basic stereo and attempts to remember how to do a set of steps she once knew by rote. Loren slowly spins around the empty living room- one, two, three, one, two, three- arms raised, but empty of the partner she knows she once embraced.
One, two, three- his face is shadowed, like all her vision these days, but Loren knows her heart would recognize him in an instant if she met him again, with or without her eyes.
One, two, thr- the radio switches to a commercial break as her ankle twists clumsily under her.
"We dance for laughter, we dance for tears,
we dance for madness, we dance for fears,
we dance for hopes, we dance for screams,
we are the dancers, we create the dreams."
Loren has become quite used to darkness over the years, but it doesn’t swallow the vague memories of the light before it- not of specific people’s faces, maybe, but of shapes, colors (blue, primarily), what certain sounds look like as they happen- from before the accident.
Sometimes, she thinks she remembers the way it looks when wind swirls and swings playfully through tree branches and makes the leaves shiver in corresponding delight.
Other days, Loren recalls the way ocean foam looks as it ceaselessly mambos up and down the sandy coast line she might once have known like the back of the hand she can no longer see.
Today she clicks on her small, cheap and excessively basic stereo and attempts to remember how to do a set of steps she once knew by rote. Loren slowly spins around the empty living room- one, two, three, one, two, three- arms raised, but empty of the partner she knows she once embraced.
One, two, three- his face is shadowed, like all her vision these days, but Loren knows her heart would recognize him in an instant if she met him again, with or without her eyes.
One, two, thr- the radio switches to a commercial break as her ankle twists clumsily under her.