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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
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James Crow

My Late Dance Partner

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This is a dramatization of real life events, names have been changed to protect those involved....



It started like most love stories. He was a shy factory worker, and so was she. At first, it seemed like nothing, just two people working together. But as time passed and the days grew colder, they found themselves working, closer and closer. Then the day came, that they found themselves in each others arms. A soft, violin played on the radio, and they danced. One look into each others eyes, and they knew it was real.


But things like that, sadly, don't last forever. He had just came back to work, after a long weekend to find her missing. Thinking nothing of it, he continued to work. But days past, and an emptiness grew in him. Finally he had enough and went to find her. It didn't take him long.


She was thrown in the corner, like a piece of trash. Her neck broken. How had this happened? Was it from a person, jealous of what they had. Maybe some one out for revenge. Or maybe it was an accident, a wrong step as she practiced her dance. Whatever happened, didn't matter to him. He stood there, stunned in silence, a storm slowly building inside him. Then finally he let out a thunderous roar of pain, followed shortly by a torrent of tears. And he fell to his knees, and held her close. As he did, their song played in his head. But it was different.


The tempo started to pick up, as a look of mania spread through his eyes. He took her to his work station. He, a mere man, contemplating the very essence of mortality, tried to preform the work of the gods! The song reached a frantic pace, and he started to work. He was going to bring her back! And when the violin hit the climax of the song, he once again fell to his knees. And the tempo, slowed to a crawl.


He couldn't save her, she was gone. And as the violin's final note slowly vanished, the room was silent. Except for the sound, of one man weeping.



This is dedicated to my late dance partner,

One could say, she swept me off my feet.

There will never be a broom like her again.

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