Sunday, November 15, 2009


This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations are purely imaginary, and any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental and unintended.

Our bodies belong together, our rhythm is one.
You touch me, the air sizzles. You pull me towards yourself, the mercury soars. My legs slide up your body, electricity is generated. We twirl, the world gasps.
Since our first dance, I have never been able to dance with anyone else. On the dance floor, we are pure unadulterated passion.

Looking at us, can anyone tell that you abandoned me when I was carrying your child? That if not for the money we make through our dancing, I would cheerfully stick a knife into your back and tango at your funeral?

Drabble(n) - an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length.

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Elizabeth Spann Craig said...

I wonder if she'll be pushed over the edge one day to do just that!

Mystery Writing is Murder

Chary Johnson said...

Great drabble! I love the tension and the emotions given off by the female character.

Rayna M. Iyer said...

@ Elizabeth - I do hope so! Maybe I should do a sequel.

@ Chary - Thanks! You did one to the same painting by Hamish Backly, didn't you? The one where he passes on AIDS.

Anonymous said...

Oh - I love the twist in this tale!

dipali said...

Phew- this one's a scorcher!

Rayna M. Iyer said...

@ Fiona - thanks!

@ dipali - it is, isn't it? Most unlike anything I normally churn out.


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