Reflections

After some heart attacks, a stroke, a breakdown, and yeah, after getting the ticket, this came out.

Dedication: Besides the main character of this little something, i'd like to dedicate it to my dear friend too, who showed me an insight of a dancers life, practice and thinking.

Thanx to Rica for the proofread.

He was standing in front of the mirror. A strange cleft ran down the mirror, which was unusual in a luxury hotel, but now it was fitting somehow. He couldn’t tell why, but that cleft on the life-sized mirror was so well known to him, and reassured him like a friend. It broke his reflection and threw the light of the bit more luxury than tasteful chandelier in thousand directions. He just stared at the mirror, the man with messy hair staring back at him. He was thinking. Indeed, he had a lot to think of. More, lot more than ten years had passed, since he was doing last time, what he was preparing to do now. He hadn’t stood in front of a mirror like this, waiting for the rhythm to take over the control over his brain and will. He hadn’t danced since years for nothing but getting away from the future. Just a few hours, and he would get to know if his decision was a good one. Just a few hours, and he would get to know if he would make a fool of himself or this time he would be able to make it.
His glance became inexpressive, he didn’t see his reflection, or at least, not that one in front of him. He was thinner, more lifeless. He did every movement with the habitual ease, even the most difficult ones. But every motion he did, every step and spin was dead. The spark, the flame, the fire in him had disappeared. The joy of life. Maybe even the life. He fell on his knees from the spin, willy-nilly, as always when he danced almost in trance. He wouldn’t know later, how he had got those black and blue spots, but now, he didn’t care. Didn’t even notice. He fell on his knees, with his fist he punched the mirror, causing it to split. His reflection broke, it was now like a puzzle, but he didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t even bleed. He sat there, wondering. Disappointed. See, he had not even the strength to break the mirror. He felt weaker, more vulnerable like before. One could feel, how his strength left him, the fire in his soul getting into slumber, sometimes it seemed, it burned out completely. For good.
But now, he had been standing here for long minutes, slowly beginning to feel that the music, like a drug, flushes his body. His heartbeat wasn’t regulated by molecules and hormones anymore, as scientists claimed, or by feelings described by poets, but the pure rhythm. First he just waited, and when his heart was already beating the same bass, he started to move. First his head, almost invisibly. If somebody had seen him, surely would have thought he was crazy. Slowly he began to move; hand, foot, step, spin. Sometimes fast, that it was difficult enough to follow him with eyes, not to mention to do it after him. Then slowly, being the slow motion of himself. Sometimes as hard as it was fighting, then so softly, as if he danced classical ballet. Step by step, his will returned, his joy of the dance, the dance itself. And the wish woke up, to return from the memories of the past and show himself to the world, and the flame started to glow again. The music stopped, he kept spinning then stopped suddenly, in the midst of a move. Now, he was standing like a statue. Only the moving of his chest showed that he had danced, just a minute ago.
He turned back and walked away from the mirror. He returned, and he was ready to announce it.