Dance Of The Dead (Story Form)

Dance Of The Dead (Prose Version)

A girl of around eight, named Claira, lies dead in the snow. Her thin, black hair blows slightly in the freezing wind. Her parents had given up on her long ago, and her older sister, Black Rose, had never found her. The ragged clothes she was wearing covered up most of the bruises and injuries on her body. Only a few small cuts on her face could be seen. Her dark blue eyes had been closed for a fair few hours now, and it was miracle that she hadn’t been completely enveloped by the harsh ice, and the bitter snow, which formed her bed. Claira’s little face showed no fear at all. She didn’t look miserable either, as might be expected. She looked surprisingly at peace.

Figures were emerging through the blizzard. Their feet could touch the ground without any discomfort. They seemed not to feel the cold at all. They were beautiful young women, but there was something strange about them, something not quite of this world. They were here for a purpose.

They made no sound as they approached Claira. They had known what they would find. They had known she would be there. One of the women takes the small girl’s right hand in hers. Another takes her left hand. The storm appears to overcome them completely, but then it subsides, and they are somewhere quite different.

Wings have appeared on the women’s backs and they are flying, flying in a beautiful, colourful world. Their clothes have all changed to match to the vibrant and saturated world they are in. Claira’s eyes flutter open and she finds herself in the air, her hands being held by two angels whose kind smiles remind her of her mother. Claira is, at first, confused, then, rather frightened. She doesn’t know what has happened to her or where she is, but as she takes in her wonderful surrounds, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Claira doubts that she could even have dreamt up a place like this. This is like an adventure.

They are suddenly flying down a huge waterfall. The torrents of water are foaming, gurgling, rushing downwards, crashing against the rocks below. On reaching the bottom, they plunge into the water below. It is filled with colourful fish and plants, Claira is so entranced by it all, that she doesn’t notice that she is no longer breathing or that she does not feel wet at all. The sea creatures do not seem scared of her at all and are quite happy to swim close to her and her companions. The angels, now that Claira is relaxed and becoming increasingly happy, only look forward. Taking Claira on this journey is part of their job.

Claira is really starting to enjoy herself and is smiling as she would never have done while she was alive, and it would have hurt to do so if she still were. They rise out of the water and into a cream coloured meadow. As they progress, multi-coloured flowers of all shapes and sizes erupt from the ground, growing from small buds and seeds to flowers in full bloom.

The angels sense the journey is coming to an end and fly straight upwards until they are high enough to face the sun. That is the way to go. They fly towards to sun, and there, they will find heaven.