A short story created from the characters of one of my favorite writers on FF.net. Hope you like it.
The city lights are glimpsed through the window closed and bolted. From head to toe opening stage of light and darkness reigns of the senses. The night is the climax and the shadows the light strains of the orchestra. The dancers are not, the public can not see them, because nobody told them the dancers were not going to be like them, they would not be a handful of the thousands who walk around town wearing different but the same clothes of ignorance. Pick up the baton that begins the work, with the nerves in the skin surfacing that filters through my nightgown. The public looked at me her eyes to the clear lack of players, finding myself alone with their criticism. Because I know what the shadows of the city play in a symphony of silent steps, but be afraid of its history, one that is repeated for centuries, as a story that ends badly, a nightmare come true. Because the end is stained with blood, like the beginning, and the howling voices narrate what can not be explained. That something exists, there is no way to prove. So I am here with my baton in hand with the stage lights, waiting for someone like me can see them, but every time I feel more discouraged, but nobody believes me. And guess what? Tonight I will not repeat the same mistake: I know better than to believe that this window is a stage, or that I am a conductor. But if anything I'm sure now that my body looks out the window, is that tonight ... you will see them.
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