Writing Group: Short Story: Dancing

Laci's avatar By Laci in Fiction & Poetry on
6 comments

The prompt for this week was write about a plague, a real one, a fictional one, not only COVID. I selected the dancing plague of 1518. The actual cause of this plague is unknown. There are theories that it was caused by a fungus or mass hysteria. I made the cause the Sidhe, the fair folk, fairies. What ever term is preferred. Let me know what you think. Happy writing!

Also, if you are curious about a writing update on my manuscript, I am editing and rewriting. So. Much. Editing.

The big people have stopped leaving us gifts. They have stopped providing us with milk and honey and bread. It confuses us, it leaves us hungry, it makes us angry. The people in strange robes, with strange chants, and burning metals have taken the devotion of those that once treasured us. Now they call us demons and so we shall be. 

When they understood the balance of things they would leave us a bit of their harvest and we would ensure that they had plenty for the year. Now, now they give us nothing. Nothing and our ire has been awakened. If we do not get gifts from them then they shall be the source of our amusement. For we are owed our due. 

We summon them in the night, those that had been the most loyal first. Those that had betrayed us most grievously. Those traitors to the traditions of generations of their kind. We invite them underhill, into our glamor. We send them home with the dawn in a fit of movement and memories of dark wonder. They are lost. Lost and dancing, dancing, dancing to our tinkling laughter. 

They dance and they touch others and they too join, toys to our mirth. All join and join and join in the revelry to our merriment. They dance in the day, dance in the heat of the sun, they dance in the night, dance in the cool of the moon, dance beneath the stars. They dance on bleeding feet and we laugh as their little ones weep. We laugh as their fields go fallow. We laugh as they fall to the earth we once balanced. 

The harvest moon is here. The fields are wildflowers and not wheat. The little children wail, as those alive pray to one that does not answer. We flit to the forest, finding underhill until they leave for us again milk and honey and bread. 

Thank you KW Photography for allowing me to use your wonderful photos!

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Published by Laci

Texas born, I grew up hunting and fishing. Now I love travel and cooking, a good beer and a great story. People are their stories and I hope to share mine. I have a ridiculously adorable canine companion named Bear, a supportive family, and a wonderful husband.

6 comments on “Writing Group: Short Story: Dancing”

  3. A very interesting subject. My Grandfather got sent home from the Army due to the 1918 Influenza outbreak. Wendel.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m glad you enjoyed it. This one was an interesting one to write. And fun because I like stories where the sidhe are dangerously.

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