By: Kathleen Locklear
Photo Credit: Creative Commons
She twirled and twirled, blades flashing in an intricate dance of fate that would decide her future, like all of the others.
It was common for her, such dances were done often. She could hear the crowd cheering, watched as the other dancers flew around her, flashing silver and deep red. She felt a wisp of hair get cut free by a twirling blade, felt as the metal ghosted by her flesh. She effortlessly spun out of the way, own blades flashing and followed by an outburst of red.
The stage was lit by bright artificial white lights, bright enough that they made her eyes burn, but her eyes were the least of her problems. Another spin, twirl, pirouette, more flashing blades, and more cheers from the crowd. Finally the timer went off and she stopped, looking around.
She was the only one left standing.
Silver and red covered the stage. She was ushered off, hailed the winner of his annual dance of death.