Sin Fronteras Spring 2017 Sin Fronteras Spring 2017 | Page 96

Cold Sweat
Steven Lee
The night was quiet,
Nothing moved underneath
The glowing moon.
It all seemed like a painting,
Strokes of silver shining from above,
Bathing the landscape in white.
The man’s chest rose up and down,
his sleep going undisturbed,
dreaming of tomorrow.
He danced in his dream,
Flowing through the floor,
Like the wind.
He flew over the stage,
The bright lights shining upon him,
Making him veritably glow.
He felt invincible,
Nothing could ever stop him.
As he danced through the stage.
He remembered the first gift,
The delicate ballet shoe,
Fit perfectly on his foot.
His first performance,
The delightful cheers,
Ringing through the air.
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His joy when he was accepted,
The letter detailing his success,
And welcoming him to the theater.
There was something nagging him,
Something at the back of his mind,
Something urgent.
The man sighed,
Whatever it was,
It couldn’t be as important as the dance.
But before he could start,
He heard a shriek,
And the memory came back,
Then the flames started again.
Just like in the accident.
So thick he couldn’t breath.
The theater filled itself with licking flames,
Dark shadows waving,
Dancing.
Tears filled his eyes,
As the thick smoke rose,
Clouding the horizon.
The flames flared,
Starting to creep closer,
Consuming everything.
The flames then reached the man,
Then climbed to his legs,
The blistering flesh melting off the bone.
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