She doesn’t understand.
“He thinks bad things happen when he dances,” she tells the instructor.
“Everyone’s nervous the first time they try to dance,” the instructor says to you. “But we all have the movement of the wind in our limbs. We just need to grow comfortable with allowing it to take control.”
You tell the instructor it’s not the first time you danced. You tell them both, bad things happened the last time.
“So are we not supposed to have a first dance at our wedding then?” your fiancé pouts.
“Don’t disappoint her,” the instructor says. “I’ll help you. Now first, let me just put on this waltz and see what you do.”
You insist that they need to take you seriously. They roll their eyes.
“Fine,” you say. “But both of you need to move to the other side of the room while I dance alone.”
The music begins. You take a step. Then another. Then another. Then you raise your arms. And you spin.
When you come out of the spin your fiancé and the instructor are naked and ravenously fucking while growling like dogs. The mirrors have all been scorched a solid black as if by fire. Out the window you see people covering their ears to block the sound of police horses yowling like housecats in heat. It’s 2 pm, but the sky is night. The floor of the dance studio opens and Satan rises from the gap like a geyser of black oil gushing in slow motion to form a many-winged beast. The walls of the studio explode outward and Satan releases a howl that instantly sends everyone within a thousand miles into madness. The reckoning has commenced.
You stop dancing and say to your fiancé and the instructor, “See?”
Happy Dance Lessons Day!
