You hang your head—how did you get here?
There’s no past, no future, and hardly any now. The darkness surrounds, but there is an up, and a down. There’s all around you as well.
A stage light shines on you from somewhere above. You squint into the brightness and see a ring of white with little specks of grey. There are dead moths and june bugs in the light.
“Dance,” They whisper.
Your head jerks in the direction of the voices. Who are They, some kind of authority? If you focus on the darkness outside your ring of light, you can see where the illumination reaches their pant legs. They must be slouched over in their chairs.
You can also see the light cast a reflection off their teeth. They’re pointed teeth—ready to eat you, your dreams, your love, your soul, your eyes.
“Dance,” They whisper again. The voice is commanding, and menacing, but you shake your head anyway.
“I don’t want to dance,” you manage to choke out. Your voice hasn’t ever been used, and it hurts when you speak. You’ve never been able to speak back, you realize, but now you can.
“We want you to dance,” They command again; their tone doesn’t grow louder.
“Why am I here?” It hurts to speak. There’s a fire in your throat that tells you to stop, that no good will come of this.
“We’ll make you dance then,” they say.
A mechanism churns somewhere. It creaks and groans as it starts up, and you feel a tug against your back, shoulders, legs, arms. You try and resist, but your muscles are no good against the authority—they are too weak.
“Dance,” They say again, for the satisfaction of you having followed their orders. Their grins widen. They look hungry. They’ll come for your life soon.
Then your legs rise, and your arms sway side to side. The tugging hurts; the strings are sharp needles that burn into your flesh. You scream but the flames in your throat force you to close your mouth.
And you dance. You twirl and jig and skip and hop and caper and leap. They snicker in their snake-like voices and you sob. The tears don’t burn like the screaming or strings do—they’re your only relief.
Slowly, your arms fall to your side, limp. Your legs begin to dangle and you are lowered to the ground. The stage light flickers off, leaving you with the darkness and the invisible smiles.
And They come in for the kill.
anywho I liked this piece but it sounds more like poetry than a story, like it has a hidden side. I dunno maybe it's just me? I like this piece I think that the title is a bit dull but it kind of brang me in at the same time. I don't think it's other Fiction like I said it's more dramatic poetry I don't mean to tear your work apart or anything but I think that the story was well not so much on the title. Anyways I hope you don't find this too harsh I'm only trying to help PM me if you have any questions or comments. Good luck, have fun, and keep writing 
