Un Danseur Gogo.

Blessings fighting curses,

Migraines ringing bells of victory,

Make way. Stand aside. The hour has come.

She stood at the centre of the room but the spotlight shone on the shadow of herself.

I do this with pride, she said with clenched fists.

I do this with honour, she said as she let loose.

I do this for no one, a tear rolled down her ebony cheeks.

The crowd stirred a uniform but unpracticed roar. Cheerleaders by circumstance.

“We want to see your shadow miss”, would have been the words they were roaring if roars could be interpreted.

Have you no shame? She wondered, but she knew quite well that she should have been the one feeling embarrassed, shameful and bewildered as her shadow pulled her by the knees.

Forcing her to bend in a majestic sway as she stopped midway, spreading her legs open.

Something to make the crowd keep roaring.

You do it with pride.

Springing up in the same demeanour as led by polished stilettos, she rotated to the degree of 90 and flipped her hair with the gesture of a closed cell phone from the 90’s.

You do it with honour.

The roars of tease from the audience caused her manicured hands to maintain a steady relationship with the pole.

You do this for no one.

Turning and whirling, flipping and swaying, teasing and flirting.

She remembered how much curses came right after the end of a blessing.

She remembered the migraine that came right after the ring of victory.

The hour was over and it was time to become Viviana once more.

r.e