Dance with the Devil

It's a story of sorts about a young girl who attempts suicide, meeting with the devil each time till he claims her as his.

I was very young the first time I danced with him. Trouble at home had me in a never ending sea of tears the melted into the apples of my cheeks making me old before my time. I would curl up on the rug that smelled slightly of dust and fabric softener and cry till my eyes were swollen shut and the wrinkles had appeared in abundance on my forehead. I would always find a place to sleep there on the old rug. I would wake up in my bed with the wrinkles gone, replaced by the smooth, flawless face that a young girl of eight or nine should have. I never remembered how I had arrived at this place and in the particular skin I was in, until one day, or night rather, he showed himself to me. He was debonair, his beautiful eyes sparked with a handsome malice that I had never witnessed before. As he looked down at me, my reflection gleamed within his marbled gaze. His hair was created of long strands of black gossamer spider web that he swept back, tickling the back of his tanned neck ever lightly. He was robed in red trimmed in gold that accentuated his tanned skin. Even I, a child etched in stupidity knew he wasn't ordinary. He reaches down and caresses my cheek, which is tear stained like it always was and I felt my skin grow taught over my bones. I should be afraid of this strange man who crept into my room like a phantom, who is clothed in a banner of reds that so remind me of fresh blood… but scream is something I can't do. I smile lucidly up at him and curiously touch his face with a brush of my fingertips. His skin is fire and I draw my hand back slowly, wondering at the burns on my delicate skin, watching as the slowly vanish. He sets me up on my feet, where I manage to stay regardless of the almost drunken wobble in my stance. He offers his hand and smiles a smile so dazzling that I almost couldn't stand it. I reach out and take his hand, ready for the blaze, the unrelenting burning against my skin… but it never comes. I want to pull away. I may have even tried but I don't remember. All I remember is his voice… his deep velvet voice that contains the clash of a cymbal, the deep bang bang banging of drums… the voice that held so much danger and promised so much love…. "Dance with me." His hand is chilled and freezes my arm as the pang of coldness races up and down it but it is okay. He spins me on my toes and I laugh. For the first time in a long time… I laugh. The morning sun begins to rise and I, a tired baby, yawn. He, the red robed phantom, silently slips me between the cool cotton sheets and brushes his fingertips against my forehead. "I'll be back my dear… " With that, he's gone, vanished betwixt the dust sifting through the early morning sunlight streaming through my thin bedroom curtains. I fall asleep. And then I wait. The second time he and I dance is on my eighteenth birthday. How much heartbreak can one person take? The world seemed determined to test theory after theory against me as I stood taking beating after beating, whiplash after whiplash. He appears before me, yet again and he is everything I remember and more. He, unlike me… myself, looks not a day older than the last time I lay my eyes on him almost nine years ago… so long ago. This time I don't wait for him to pull me up and away from the grimy carpet on which I still sleep. I rise to join him and he accepts, willingly taking me in his arms and holding me. We dance yet again, but this time it's different. I am no longer playing a little blond Cinderella escaping her problems through the wand of her tiny limbed fairy godmother… no. This time it's different than spinning on my tiptoes. This dance is much more intimate. He grips my arm, his fiery hand leaving a blistered, bubbling imprint on my dead skin as though he was marking me as his own, his nails leaving bloody claw marks where no one has ever touched me before. He pulls me toward his chest and I fall into the embrace, curling tightly against him as I try to match each heartbeat, each breath and leave everything, all the hate and lies of my old life before he took me as we dance through the midnight sky above every one. His hand fits perfectly into the small of my back. I was pressed against him, feeling every muscle, every pulse of blood through his veins and he can feel the same within me. For one small piece of eternity I'm graceful. As we glide across the starry night, I'm happy. His knee is pressed firmly against the inside of my leg and we are intimately close. He whispers words that mean nothing and everything into my ear in between the fiery kisses he presses to my bare collarbone. Each kiss burns and lingers, leaving me wanting more than he could ever give me. I can't measure time for there is no way for me to do so but for whatever amount of time I am with him, I can honestly and truly enjoy myself. All too soon, he carries me back to my room and I don't want to let go. My icy skin touches his; fever warm, and steam rises slightly from our bodies as he laughs a husky laugh. "Don't worry my dear. I'll be back soon." One last ferocious kiss to my throat and he's gone, once again vanished amongst the rainbow hues glancing through the window from the slowing rising sun as it plays around my room. The third time we were together, I didn't think I could bear to be alone a moment more. A pathetic creature curled up in her apartment trying very hard to hold herself together for just a minute more. Suddenly, he's there, sitting next to me, the gleam of intent still in his eyes. They probe me, searching for something. He turns me to face him and presses a hard kiss against my cracked lips. It takes my breath away with its icy distance and warm familiarity. I gasp and he bites at my lower lip as I hesitantly return the kiss. My senses are reeling and I can't catch my escaped breath. After a moment, he pulls me off the couch and pulls me to him. I'm panting for air; my lips burning as if icy hot had been spread over them. He spins me not into the sky as he did last time, but into a mirrored banquet hall. I had lost my tattered clothing along the way and they had been replaced by a ball gown of the same hues of red and gold his jacket was always composed of. Everyone's eyes are on us as we glide across the marbled hall. I would never imagine that he could hold me any closer to him than he previously had but here we were, with not even a hairs breadth between us. His hand wandered to a place below my waist as we swept across the hall. The hollow behind my ear tingled as he breathed into my ear. It was once again an eternal dance, lasting both forever and not nearly long enough. He dances in a way to show me off my heart swells at the oohs and aahs and I finally feel like I'm worthy enough to be his. The music entwines itself around our feet in a tangible fog and at the pinnacle of my enjoyment… I'm back at my apartment. He doesn't leave right away like all the previous times but leaves me to my room where he caresses my head, fingering my still curled locks before he viciously attacks my lips. I fall back, slightly afraid of his forwardness. He stops, sensing my fear and stands up. Before I can so much as blink, he bows and is gone. Time is cruel. It's impertinent and intrusive and even more so an evil being that plays tricks on the mind. Ages passed before I saw him again and each day without him grew progressively worse until finally, eons late, he showed up in my life for the last time. Again, like always, we dance. Swirling through the atmosphere and he holds me tightly against him, as if afraid I would fall if he let go of me. This time there are none of his fiery little kisses along my jaw bone. There was simply a silent dance that I never wanted to end despite the feeling of it all being over in a mere matter of moments. All the sudden I'm in the house I loathe. I never wanted to be alone but things never turn out the way you plan them. It took me forever to realize that happy endings never really happen. Again, as he did the time before he leads me to my room. I can feel the pressure of his body leaning over until I'm on my back on the bed. I expect it to hurt, to burn when his bare body touches my own but as he kisses me I realize that this feels right. I let him do what he wants, relishing the extra time I was allowed to spend with the man I had come to love, too long for. When it was all over, he lingered. We lay in the bed, blankets tangled around our legs, our fingers clasped together. His sweet honeyed voice nests in my ear."Come with me. You will never have to be alone again. I will always love you." I believed him with all my heart and readily accepted his generous offer. He again vanishes, this time taking me with him. I was sinking even though he held me in his arms. We sank lower and lower until we landed with a soft thump in a black room with no doors or windows. Tongues of flame lick at my bare toes. It is not a place of warmth or love like he promised me and I am afraid but still…. We dance.

Author's Note

It was just a quickly dashed off idea. Please feel free to critique (:

Reviews

[G Clem]

It was a straight story. I would have liked to see more metaphores. It was the premise that caught my attention (good job!). I agree with the previous reviewer, the paragraphs were much too bulky which made it more difficult to read. It was somewhat lyrical and haunting which I like. Good description made it easy to invision and experience the story in color. Personally, I thought it could have been a little more bloody (figuretively speaking). Meaning, I thought you could have gone a bit deeper into the main character's psychology. It was an interesting read though. Thanks so much!

[Devons]

"Handsome malice"

Taking the above as an epithet, I think that it encapsulates the entire portrayal of the Devil in this story. It is very original in this sense. One can perceive the light and the dark side of his character quite acutely throughout the narrative, and it is somehow reassuring to imagine this creation: He burns, yet brings comfort. Actually this reminds of a great movie quote where a man says to his married lover, "You know what you're doing, don't you? You're playing with fire." To which the woman says, "At least it warms me."
The concept I appreciate from this story is that perhaps there are some people in this world who are either destined to accompany the Devil, or are treated so badly here in this life that the Devil becomes an attractive prospect. It really makes you think along those lines, which is interesting.

This was a skilfully written piece, using very good descriptions at times, intelligent language, and conjuring up vivid and colourful images within the imagination.
Very good.

PS. The only small criticisms I have are that it could do with being broken-up a little further into more paragraphs to make it easier to read; also, at times the present and past tense use is a little mixed together.

[Ryan Falzon - Tymon]

I really liked this. I loved it how you personified death as a beautiful release, as often seen by people who consider suicide.

A wonderful sad piece.