A Dancer's Repitoire

Soft steps break through the solemn silence as the lithe and graceful dancer dances her last tirade. Arms cross, another slice from the blade she clutched appears on already scarred skin. Hands reach to the heavens, red tears cascade down pale palms as a pirouette knocks the empty pill bottle to the floor. One last step towards the stool, a gesture of pure assurance, head back, shoulders squared, a silent ovation in the dark. The rope on tight, and with a final leap the stool falls to the floor with a deafening thud. The Dancer's last breath was beautiful...