Deanna McCullough

The Dance

It had been a damp night. The air was thick with humidity of mid-spring. Tiny droplets of dew began to form on the grass outside, but all else was still and quiet. All else, that is, except for her. She had not slept a wink. Overwhelmed with concerned about the state of the world and humanity as a whole, she felt the urge to fight. Nevertheless, she was completely unaware of where to direct her strength. Unequivocally, her strength was dwindling and her concern heightening with every pause, every second, every breath.