May 16

Dancing with the Devil

   Jazz. Hardcore jazz.The heavy music filled my ears of tune and my mind of agitation. My heart punching against my ribcage, and the the shudders of fear formed droplets of presperation atop of my forehead. Pacing, step 1.. 2.. 3.. step 1.. 2.. 3.. step 1.. 2.. 3... For I knew it was wrong, I still tangoed with him. Locking eyes, I swam into the pool pit of his eyes. The guilt aroused like a firestorm , boiling the blood that ran through-out my insides.

    The curves, the struts, and the sways of my hips, perpetually moving with the rhythm. Twirling with my arms to the air, I slightly closed my eyes and a half-way smirk imprinted on the curves of my lips. I trusted him, though I had every single reason and right not to. He eyed my figure. The way he lingered his eyes into mine, the way he looked at me, made me feel the urge to put my body on top of his. The power, the compulsion of dancing with the Devil.

About the Author: shenneljolly
“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”— Anne Frank