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Description
Paris. Rain falls on the pavement, rainbows flowing in the gutter. It's a dark and dreary day. But the beauty of Paris is heightened with the tense air, on the verge of storm. People rush about, umbrellas held high – a splash of colour in the dark streets. Outside one of the many café's that litter the sidewalks of the city sits an old woman. She sips the coffee in front of her, looking ahead, waiting for something. The deep lines in her face crease as a figure rolls slowly towards her. A smile parts her lips slightly to show the battered yellow teeth combined with dentures, to provide an almost checkered effect.

For a moment it is as though the rain clears as the figure comes close enough for her to see fully. An old man sits there in a wheel chair. Check shirt above old baggy jeans, the shape of two legs – barely more than bone – obvious beneath their blue mask. He rolls to her table, to see her for the first time in many many years. He smiles too. "You are as beautiful as the first day we met."

She chuckles. "And you are as nimble."

"Do you remember..?" his voice falters, but the half spoken question draws her into a memory, so vivid it is as if it happened only yesterday.

A young woman, dark hair tied into a knot at the top of her head, elegant body beneath a leotard of baby pink. A white tutu around her waist. Her right foot sweeps the floor in a long arc, her arms following the motion. She dips her body and her arms sweep the floor, then she rises in a mournful gesture, her body slowly turning as she lifts her body straight again. Violins begin a crescendo as she begins a pirouette, right foot now tucked up to her left knee. The lament of her body ends as another moves close behind her. An arm reaches along hers until it reaches and grasps her outstretched hand. Pulling her hand above her head, the foreign arm forces her to twirl one last time until she ends facing the newcomer. He smiles down at her, then begins to lead. Their feet move together in synchronous motion. He leads her in circles, sometimes they turn together, sometimes he lifts her, but always their beings move as one. Joined together in the depths of the music that surrounds them. The rhythm of the drums gets louder and faster, the violins get more erratic, the basses begin a staccato, and the dancers respond to the change. What was a sweeping courting becomes a passionate love affair. Their bodies so close, his breath warms her forehead. His arm around her waist he lifted her into the air. They spun for what seemed like an eternity, they began to blur. Then as the pace of the music slowed towards it's final chords, they slowed, and he lowered himself to the ground. A cello soared in one final crescendo. Both man and woman knelt on the floor, leaning backwards, one arm arching up into the air in a plea to the heavens. The dance was ended.

Applause swept over them. So loud they could barely hear their own hearts beating. They stood and bowed, then ran from the dance floor, bowing further as they went. Now was a time for celebration. Dressed in normal clothes once more, they went to join their friends and fellow dancers for drinks and a slightly different type of dancing. But it wasn't just they that were to celebrate that night. One party-goer, on their way back from an undoubtedly fun night, met them on their way.

And like all dreams, this perfect one was ended, and a nightmare began. Like a mirror shattering, so did his bones as the car headlights became a spotlight for the last show where he would be standing. It was more than seven years bad luck he would gain from those broken bones though. It would be a lifetime. In a single moment, the life planned out for the both of them ended. Neither would ever dance again.

She looked down at herself. Her arthritis riddled hand that gripped her walking stick. Knees that often buckled beneath her own weight. Toes that had little memory of the time they pirouetted for hours on end. The beauty and elegance was all but lost.

She reached forwards, grasped his hand in hers, as tightly as she could. She held her head proud, a tear streamed down her cheek. "I remember."

Description
Paris. Rain falls on the pavement, rainbows flowing in the gutter. It's a dark and dreary day. But the beauty of Paris is heightened with the tense air, on the verge of storm. People rush about, umbrellas held high – a splash of colour in the dark streets. Outside one of the many café's that litter the sidewalks of the city sits an old woman. She sips the coffee in front of her, looking ahead, waiting for something. The deep lines in her face crease as a figure rolls slowly towards her. A smile parts her lips slightly to show the battered yellow teeth combined with dentures, to provide an almost checkered effect.

For a moment it is as though the rain clears as the figure comes close enough for her to see fully. An old man sits there in a wheel chair. Check shirt above old baggy jeans, the shape of two legs – barely more than bone – obvious beneath their blue mask. He rolls to her table, to see her for the first time in many many years. He smiles too. "You are as beautiful as the first day we met."

She chuckles. "And you are as nimble."

"Do you remember..?" his voice falters, but the half spoken question draws her into a memory, so vivid it is as if it happened only yesterday.

A young woman, dark hair tied into a knot at the top of her head, elegant body beneath a leotard of baby pink. A white tutu around her waist. Her right foot sweeps the floor in a long arc, her arms following the motion. She dips her body and her arms sweep the floor, then she rises in a mournful gesture, her body slowly turning as she lifts her body straight again. Violins begin a crescendo as she begins a pirouette, right foot now tucked up to her left knee. The lament of her body ends as another moves close behind her. An arm reaches along hers until it reaches and grasps her outstretched hand. Pulling her hand above her head, the foreign arm forces her to twirl one last time until she ends facing the newcomer. He smiles down at her, then begins to lead. Their feet move together in synchronous motion. He leads her in circles, sometimes they turn together, sometimes he lifts her, but always their beings move as one. Joined together in the depths of the music that surrounds them. The rhythm of the drums gets louder and faster, the violins get more erratic, the basses begin a staccato, and the dancers respond to the change. What was a sweeping courting becomes a passionate love affair. Their bodies so close, his breath warms her forehead. His arm around her waist he lifted her into the air. They spun for what seemed like an eternity, they began to blur. Then as the pace of the music slowed towards it's final chords, they slowed, and he lowered himself to the ground. A cello soared in one final crescendo. Both man and woman knelt on the floor, leaning backwards, one arm arching up into the air in a plea to the heavens. The dance was ended.

Applause swept over them. So loud they could barely hear their own hearts beating. They stood and bowed, then ran from the dance floor, bowing further as they went. Now was a time for celebration. Dressed in normal clothes once more, they went to join their friends and fellow dancers for drinks and a slightly different type of dancing. But it wasn't just they that were to celebrate that night. One party-goer, on their way back from an undoubtedly fun night, met them on their way.

And like all dreams, this perfect one was ended, and a nightmare began. Like a mirror shattering, so did his bones as the car headlights became a spotlight for the last show where he would be standing. It was more than seven years bad luck he would gain from those broken bones though. It would be a lifetime. In a single moment, the life planned out for the both of them ended. Neither would ever dance again.

She looked down at herself. Her arthritis riddled hand that gripped her walking stick. Knees that often buckled beneath her own weight. Toes that had little memory of the time they pirouetted for hours on end. The beauty and elegance was all but lost.

She reached forwards, grasped his hand in hers, as tightly as she could. She held her head proud, a tear streamed down her cheek. "I remember."