She crashed to the floor, clutching her foot, with her head down, as she silently wept.
The boy, shaken from his daze, anxiously comes up and sits beside her. He cranes his beautiful head sideways to examine and slowly runs his finger over the mehendi covered sole. She screams in pain, and then muffles it into a whimper. A silent murmur passes between both, and the boy stood up and took his place again.
The girl unties one bow from her head and ties her bleeding foot with it. Then dusting her frock, she stands up and takes the same, stiff position with a slight grimace. The tune began to flow again, and the dance with the seraphic dance began again.
The boy stood up slowly and picked up a small box lying beside him. If you looked carefully enough, you'd see tiny, peculiar little cuts and perforations on it. Not skipping a beat, he used his other hand to gently tap the box.
The taps grew more and more violent with each twirl of the girl. It's as if Horatio knew every move, soul of his lady Hamlet. At one point of time, the legs elongated and her hair grew longer, her skin grew fairer, and in the light of this mirage, I saw the perfect image of my graceful mother, dancing passionately but with excitement, as if she knew every secret of the set floors.
He looked upwards and smiled with crazed euphoria as the glissando begun with the next beat.
The girl was muttering something with a calm expression on her face. Her feet grew violent, her movements grew cautious and intricate. Lost in her own rhythm, she giggled with delight. Fear passed like a shadowy streak on the boy's face, but he smiled gently as well. She spun around once and sat down in one flaccid movement. "Wasn't that fun, now? The pain made it all the more worthwhile."
The boy handed her something out of a packet, a biscuit. Crumbs fell on the stage. Good. I'd need convincing proof of the angelic visions I'd just seen. But the boy carefully brushed them away. So lost was I in my daze, I didn't hear the ominous thud, the children did though.
Trepidation hung in the air. In one quick stride, the boy had picked all his makeshift instruments. They raced towards the back door and halted. My eyes widened. I had shut it on my way in. The kids banged against it in surprise. They hastily tried to get it open.
"I finally got you. This is where you've been coming every night."
A man stepped into view. He would have been good looking, but constant wear, drink and frustration gave way to crease lines on his face. His eyes were red. He had an urumi in his hand.
The children had gone pale. With an expression of pure hatred and anger, he pulled them roughly off the stage. Tears ran down their face as they looked at the repugnant man, then at each other.
Exiting through the front door must've been a scuffle. I heard shrieks. Helplessly, all I could do was stare. It would simply take one simple flick of that urumi to cut my neck into half. He, on the other hand, may not kill the children for reasons.
Shivering, I made my way back home and lay awake for a long time. The night had surely been eventful, and I was afraid I'd wake up and think it was all a dream. I stayed home for a day.
Two days later when I made my way to the set, I got news that there had been no break ins the previous night, but one, the night before that. I was congratulated, since I had gone to investigate. They assumed I had scared the trespassers away.
I traced my steps, hoping to find any sign of the happenings of that night. I made my way to the back door.
Stuck on a single, rusted nail, peeking out from the hinge, was a torn red ribbon, stained darkly with blood.
The boy, shaken from his daze, anxiously comes up and sits beside her. He cranes his beautiful head sideways to examine and slowly runs his finger over the mehendi covered sole. She screams in pain, and then muffles it into a whimper. A silent murmur passes between both, and the boy stood up and took his place again.
The girl unties one bow from her head and ties her bleeding foot with it. Then dusting her frock, she stands up and takes the same, stiff position with a slight grimace. The tune began to flow again, and the dance with the seraphic dance began again.
The boy stood up slowly and picked up a small box lying beside him. If you looked carefully enough, you'd see tiny, peculiar little cuts and perforations on it. Not skipping a beat, he used his other hand to gently tap the box.
The taps grew more and more violent with each twirl of the girl. It's as if Horatio knew every move, soul of his lady Hamlet. At one point of time, the legs elongated and her hair grew longer, her skin grew fairer, and in the light of this mirage, I saw the perfect image of my graceful mother, dancing passionately but with excitement, as if she knew every secret of the set floors.
He looked upwards and smiled with crazed euphoria as the glissando begun with the next beat.
The girl was muttering something with a calm expression on her face. Her feet grew violent, her movements grew cautious and intricate. Lost in her own rhythm, she giggled with delight. Fear passed like a shadowy streak on the boy's face, but he smiled gently as well. She spun around once and sat down in one flaccid movement. "Wasn't that fun, now? The pain made it all the more worthwhile."
The boy handed her something out of a packet, a biscuit. Crumbs fell on the stage. Good. I'd need convincing proof of the angelic visions I'd just seen. But the boy carefully brushed them away. So lost was I in my daze, I didn't hear the ominous thud, the children did though.
Trepidation hung in the air. In one quick stride, the boy had picked all his makeshift instruments. They raced towards the back door and halted. My eyes widened. I had shut it on my way in. The kids banged against it in surprise. They hastily tried to get it open.
"I finally got you. This is where you've been coming every night."
A man stepped into view. He would have been good looking, but constant wear, drink and frustration gave way to crease lines on his face. His eyes were red. He had an urumi in his hand.
The children had gone pale. With an expression of pure hatred and anger, he pulled them roughly off the stage. Tears ran down their face as they looked at the repugnant man, then at each other.
Exiting through the front door must've been a scuffle. I heard shrieks. Helplessly, all I could do was stare. It would simply take one simple flick of that urumi to cut my neck into half. He, on the other hand, may not kill the children for reasons.
Shivering, I made my way back home and lay awake for a long time. The night had surely been eventful, and I was afraid I'd wake up and think it was all a dream. I stayed home for a day.
Two days later when I made my way to the set, I got news that there had been no break ins the previous night, but one, the night before that. I was congratulated, since I had gone to investigate. They assumed I had scared the trespassers away.
I traced my steps, hoping to find any sign of the happenings of that night. I made my way to the back door.
Stuck on a single, rusted nail, peeking out from the hinge, was a torn red ribbon, stained darkly with blood.
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