Young Writers Society

Moving their fit bodies to the beat - blasting from the portable stereo - was a group of street dancers. Each and every one of them came from an average financial and educational background.

Most of them attended the local public school but some had dropped out earlier that year. Their shadows danced of the walls with them as the sun began to set over the hectic city.

***

Twelve professional dance students moved across the polished floor. They all kept their heads up and looking into the full length mirrors that ran along the front of the studio.

It was like a beautiful painting that was alive; the group was so captivating to watch. The movement was memorising but the dances faces were completely expressionless. It was like the faces had also been painted but these pieces of artwork didn’t come to life and move.

***

The untrained dancers were different from the professionally and technically trained dancers. Their faces were animated and full of expression, whether it was shear joy to be dancing or there eyes connecting with others in the group.

They weren’t taking their opportunity to dance for granted and they were dancing straight from their hearts. Nothing else in life mattered to these lower ranked members of society, nothing was more important to them than dancing.

***

The twelve academy dancers moved into six pairs. As they did the sound of rain beginning to bounce of the roof could just be heard over the slow, flowing music projecting through the studio.

Even though they were now looking into each others eyes, there facial expressions still, did not change. Keeping the painting alive, the pairs moved closer and the two bodies merged as one, in total agreement and respect.

***

The rain was belting down now and slowly becoming more thick and heavier than before. But this did not stop the passionate street dancers; in fact it just made them stronger and faster.

They too, like the professional students, began to move into pairs. They didn’t look graceful though and their faces were bursting with expression.

The guys and the girls were socked to the bone and the rain rushed over their uncovered skin; their hair was also drenched and as the danced, water droplets would spiral in every direction possible.

The pairs moved closer, it was aggressive and dirty but it was fun aggression, all in the spirit of the moment. They all just felt the rhythm of the music and seemed to communicate with each other without using any words.

***

In the studio, none of the moves were improvised; they had been previously choreographed. All of the dancers were breathing heavily and sweat was beginning to appear on there brows. Even when they were getting dragged down by fatigue they endured, staying synchronized and graceful.

The pairs split into singles and as they looked back at themselves in the mirror, they all walked slowly to the sides of the studio, leaving the tiled floor empty. The music faded.

***

Still in pairs the street dancers started to improvise poses, all different and individual. The grungy music finished with a bang, just like the dancers did.

The streetlights beamed down on the group, the light illuminated the droplets of water that were still falling; the rain was lighter and thinner now. The picture broke slowly as the dancers split.

The girls smiled and laughed and the guys all exchanged high fives, showing there recognition of everyone else’s fancy footwork and movement. Not much was said, other than a couple of goodbyes as they all grabbed there bags and went separate ways.