The Music of Words

I speak through my hands that grip a little piece of wood that dances on a paper and leaves little muddy footprints behind. It's nimble footsteps sound like mice: skritch, skritch, scratch. When my hands move excitingly, in a blur, my little wood dances faster with furious small, quick steps. My little wood, my puppet, sways for its puppeteer, wearing down its tiny slippers down to the last ribbons. What do you dance, my little dancer? Ballet or some other? It dances anger, fear, and joy under the garish sun and bathed in the moonlight.  When it stops in midair, half a step, an incomplete move, the world stops. Life itself stops. The pitter patter of the rain on the window sills freezes into floating crystals- a thousand glittering diamonds. Time is paused for that longest second when the dancing stops and my little wood becomes a pencil and I am just a little girl sitting cross legged in a room full of others. Then time resumes, the dancing continues and the frozen crystals become rain again, pattering on the window sill to the rhythm of the song.

Reviews

[alesuriko]

I love the vivid imagery within this vignette. So much wonder in the imagination and I like the way you interpreted more than one art style into this! A very beautiful piece that is filled with expression, emotion and metaphor. Your grammar with commas could use a bit spicing up but not much, either that or your comma placement was done for poetic justice. Either way it does not hinder the story, I'm just far too much of a grammar freak for my own good haha. Otherwise, wonderful story, I really enjoyed reading and visualizing it!