The Hunger Dance
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Story mood:
He is exhausted and energetic. His eyelids droop. His hands and arms flail out, his jaw jerks. The gestures are repetitive and violent. He opens a bin, looks in it for a moment and slams it shut.
Everyone at the bus stop turns as he jolts past us. Our movements are underwater. He stares at me, his eyes rummaging around in my soul, opening and closing the drawers of my heart, looking for something in its dark dusty corners. I am unable to look away, apologetic.
My body a statue, but he carries on with his dance – whilst he walks, whilst he stands, whilst he smokes, for as long as he lives.
THE END
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