#cavort

On either side of you, the floor is empty. Dusty. Wooden. A single step and you could feel the way the floorboards sunk and creak. Behind you is a wall. High and painted dark. Weakly covered up with dry wall plaster that cracked and peeled in certain weak points. Barely hidden by the shadows of the room, and a painted sheet depicting an idealized midday Kugane scene.

The giant red painted bridge was pictured here. Magnificently connecting the Shiokaze Hostelry to the Kugane Dori district. You could see all manners of citizens enjoying the shade underneath paper umbrellas situated around the plaza just outside the hostelry. A few of them engaged in some sort of modest intimacy. With just the slightest hint of sexuality with simple inclinations of the head. A street performer situated just a few spaces away from such an arrangement. He stood juggling a rubber ball on top of a similar umbrella to those that provided shade. A bright smile upon his painted face.

He was the centerpiece of the print. Situated between the lovers on the left. And the citizens venturing two and fro between the two districts on the right.

Before you. And before this painting. Are an arrangement of empty seats. Cold, and quiet, and morbid. There is a silence here, just as judgmental and suffocating as a full and quiet audience.

Above your head, you raise a closed umbrella. Red like your eyes, the tips of your horns, your nails, and at times--your lips. Its spirals rotating with a flicker of the wrist. Spinning about in midair, before you catch it! And a gesture more, the umbrella would fan out. Its pattern flaring. Expanding. While your legs spin and your hips twirl. Balancing upon the tips of a single foot’s toes. Hands outstretched. Laughter comes from nowhere and everywhere at once. Followed by a judgmental hush.

A metallic ring glistens in your hand, caught by the blinding spotlight’s shine. It would land precisely on the side on top of the umbrella’s white swirling spiral. And as you start to rotate the wrist, the umbrella too rotates! The ring would jump in joy! And start to spin around the edge of the umbrella. Guided by the gentle and steady speed you balanced the twirling umbrella upon. The silence holds its breath.

Faster and faster your body would spin. With leaps and bounds, long strides that would speak measures to your agility. Your balance. Your ability to keep pace. Gasps and sounds of increased laughter fill your horns. Yells and jeers. All manner of noise. Noise. Noise. Deafening you to the silent cues you had practiced time and time again. Still you dance on. The ring becoming erratic in its path as it nears the top of the umbrella in an uphill climb! Almost as if it was reaching the top of a great mountain to meet the gods!

You prop up your arms! Creating a leaping bounce!

And with a precise placement of the food. You bend your body so you might close the umbrella into your arms, and against your chest. The wooden bamboo tip piercing through the silver halo, a shining hoop to adorn the red and white spiral.

The light disappears as the voices grew louder. Shouting at you with words you cannot comprehend.