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MM Flash Fiction #2

MM Flash Fiction #2

March 2014

 

Writing Prompts:

1.) Teenager

2.) Last Chance

3.) Yahir Parker

4.) Zoey Butler

5.) Zane Verne

 

            Zane had been trying to sneak into Yahir’s bedroom via the fire escape for almost a month now. He wanted to sleep next to Yahir’s warm body, wrap his arms around him. Love him. Especially this night because Yahir was turning sixteen. At midnight. He wanted this time to be special. And yet, every night he’d gotten Yahir’s window open and stuck his head inside, his boyfriend hadn’t been there.

            At school Yahir had nothing to say, claiming to have slept well. But Zane couldn’t ignore the dark circles and the bags under Yahir’s eyes any more.

            Tonight, he made sure to arrive early. Just in time to see Yahir’s long, lithe body, climbing out of his bedroom window, black shoes dangling from his neck.

            Zane watched from a distance as Yahir sat down to place the shoes on his feet. He stood, muscles rippling beneath his t-shirt, held his arms in the air above his head in an odd gesture, then began to dance. Ballet. Of all things.

            Dumb struck, Zane stared. Since when had Yahir known how to dance?

            When Yahir was several yards away and still moving, Zane noticed a piece of paper fluttering in the breeze against the metal of the fire escape. It hadn’t been there before. As he approached, he realized it was taped down and bore his own name in Yahir’s scratchy handwriting.

            “Help. The mansion on the hill. Keep me from dancing. 12:04am,” was all the note said.

            Zane turned back to catch up with Yahir, but his boyfriend was gone.

            There was only one mansion that fit that description. Mr. Goldstone lived there, but he never left the place. Rumors abounded as to why. Maybe tonight Zane would learn the truth.

            He called his older sister, Zoey, to pick him up.

            “I don’t want to know what high school prank you’re trying to pull, do I?” she asked when he got in the car.

            “It’s not a prank, Sis. Promise.”

            “You pulled me out of a sorority meeting.”

            “At this time of night?”

            “Don’t tell Mom and Dad.” She sighed. “Going to college sucks when you live with your parents.”

            They pulled up to the mansion in time to see the front gate open and Yahir dance his way through.

            “What the…” Zoey stared.

            Zane rushed to follow his boyfriend before the gate closed. Zoey was right behind him.

            “This, I’ve got to see. Aren’t you dating him?”

            “Yes.” 

            The front door creaked open on rusty hinges. Zane slipped in behind an oblivious Yahir, and spun on his toes to meet the butler who’d opened the door. One swift punch and the man in the dusty suit was struggling to get up off the floor.

            Zoey yanked her belt off and tied his wrists behind his back with it. Zane locked him in a nearby closet. His head jerked up at the crack of a whip.

            “Keep dancing!” a gruff voice hollered.

            “What the hell’s going on?” Zoey hissed, her eyes going wide.

            Both rushed through a diningroom set for a party of twelve, the dishes covered in a thick layer of dust. They stopped in the doorway to a large empty room with a smooth wooden floor, long drapes from the high ceiling covered three walls while a mirror covered the entire fourth wall. A practice barre was fixed to the mirror.

            In the middle of the floor, twelve boys in pink leotards practiced ballet. Stretching at the barre, was Yahir. In a black leotard that matched his black ballet shoes, his muscles bulged and rippled as he moved. Zane’s mouth hung open. If he drooled, he didn’t notice.

            Zoey shut his mouth with a finger. “Now what?”

            He showed her the note from Yahir.

            “Yahir darling, come over here,” Mr. Goldstone called, arms outstretched.

            Zane shivered.

            Yahir went to Goldstone, eyes glazed as if he were in a trance.

            Goldstone cracked his long whip in the air and the younger boys began dancing faster. He draped an arm around Yahir’s shoulders.

            “You’re my best boy, I hope you realize that.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Your parents thought that by moving you away from me, they could keep you from me.” Goldstone laughed. “In just a few minutes you’ll be mine forever. I’ll be able to watch you dance whenever I please. It’s a wonder people don’t know how curses work any more. You know what you’re supposed to do tonight, yes?”

            “I’m to keep dancing until I’m officially sixteen. After which, I won’t ever be able to stop.” Yahir’s voice was low, quiet.

            “That’s a good boy. Now, go make me happy.”

            “Uh, I thought curses were only in fairy tales,” Zane stage-whispered to Zoey.

            “Who said that?” Goldstone whirled around to face them. “Who are you?”

            “I’m his boyfriend.” Zane hooked a thumb in Yahir’s direction.

            “What?” Mr. Goldstone’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. “Mr. Yahir Parker does not have a-a boyfriend.” He said the word ‘boyfriend’ as if he were talking about a dirty diaper. “Get out!”

            “He doesn’t want me to leave, so, no.”

            “Lester, get in here!”

            “If he’s the dusty guy who let us in, he’s a bit busy right now,” Zoey said.

            Zane checked his watch. Midnight. He made a dash for Yahir, now pirouetting across the far end of the room.

            “Get away from him!” Goldstone headed his way.

            Zoey tackled Goldstone, jumping on his back and linking her arms around his neck.

            Zane reached Yahir and grabbed his arm, tugging him to his chest, while Yahir tried to dance away.

            “No.”

            Yahir struggled in his arms while Zoey kept Goldstone from reaching them. Zane’s strength wavered. Yahir was tougher than he’d thought. Yahir went slack in his arms and Zane lowered them both to the floor.    

            Goldstone sobbed, his precious boy lost to him forever.

            Yahir’s eyes slid closed and blinked open, clear and bright. He smiled. “You saved me.”

            “What else was I supposed to do? Happy birthday.”

 

Author’s Note:

This is loosely based on the idea of the Twelve Dancing Princesses and was also inspired by “The Bonny Swans” sung by Loreena McKennitt on her album called “The Mask and the Mirror”.

 

I had a hard time figuring out how to write this once I came up with the idea for it, and then I was afraid it would surpass the 1,000 word limit, which is why I came up with a second story for this week’s writing prompts. I was able to pare this one down to fit after all, so there are indeed, two stories this week.

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