Article: 288598 of talk.bizarre From: Andy Green <firstname.lastname@example.org> Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: dancers Date: Sun, 01 Dec 1996 16:45:07 +0000 Organization: Spare Wheels Inc Lines: 18 Message-ID: <32A1B550.41C6@zands.demon.co.uk> X-NNTP-Posting-Host: zands.demon.co.uk X-Mailer: Mozilla 3.0 (X11; I; IRIX 6.2 IP22) MIME-Version: 1.0 It was one of those times when memory feels like so much empty skin. I had woken early and climbed a hill to watch the dancers in the valley below. The sun was rising as I arrived and I could see its reflection glinting off their cold glass eyes as they shuffled slowly forward to begin their dance. They formed a wide circle and began moving slowly, raising their arms to the sky and then lowering their claw-like hands to scrape at the ruined earth. The sun gave their bodies a metallic sheen and shone back blindly from their eyes as they raised their heads so they could not see the damage they were doing. After a while the circle broke, as it always does, and the dancers danced alone, each digging a circle around itself, each one eventually falling into a silent heap on the ground. I knew a man once who had visions, and the visions became ideas, and the ideas became words, and he wrote them all down and found that he could only see the words on the page. I like to think that the dancers are digging for his soul, but I know in my heart they are only digging for pebbles, so they can sing and be free.