"Dancing at the End of the World"

       We never knew it would end like this.  When I was a child, people predicted that it would be a violent end.  We were told that Mankind would show itself to be ultimately savage, with brother fighting brother till the very end.  They said we’d blow ourselves up.  But it didn't happen that way; there was hardly a whimper and there was dancing.  There was just a lot of dancing.

       My town of St. Odilia was a thriving, busy town as I remember it as a child.  It was far from the hell that it is now.  They say that most of the buildings were rock and metal back then, not the cardboard and wood used nowadays.  I just remember the sprawling acres of businesses with their bright lights as you traveled down the road.  It's now a gray memory. When I go down the main street today, it feels more like a Hollywood set from an old disaster movie than a real town. People don't remember movies. The older buildings made with their graying, rotting lumber contrast greatly with the buildings constructed of whatever materials could be found, including old twisted signage and wrecked sections of ruined old buildings.  Since nobody cares enough to create new materials, people have gone to using whatever can be found and salvaged for shelter.  Some just huddle together in shock, with maybe a blanket. Nothing looks clean and shiny new like I remember.  Everything has a stain of the past on it.  Burned edges and scorch marks are reminders that everyone notices but no one talks about. You stare at them while you wait for the finality of it all.

        Everybody just waits nowadays.  Nobody works anymore.  What is there to work for?  There's no motivation to do anything. Those very few that have always been that go-getter-type walk around collecting bottles and cans, or trying to form committees or groups.  Change and hope died a long time ago; I myself call it crazy.  The go-getters seem to have the attitude that if they stop, everything will really end – too late, you idiots.  We, those who just wait, watch them twitter about talking to themselves. They continue to walk around, their tin cans and bottles occasionally breaking the silence.

        The only ones nowadays that do seem to have a direction of some kind are the members of the Dancing Tribe -- young men and women, traveling around acting like what my mother would call “heathens”.  Most only wear loose brightly-patterned pants tied around their waists, baring their chests to the world.  I can hardly tell any difference between boys and girls - thin bodies, long hair.  They just dance together or alone out in the open, usually in some drug-like stupor. Their bodies jerk and heave without pause. Their arms flailing about like someone drowning. Hands grabbing at other bodies in fleeting caresses. It's one of the last beautiful things left to us. Occasionally, one of ‘em might drop dead when it finally gets them. 

        I remember when it started, and that lovely guy announced that he and his youthful friends would “dance while the world around us falls or until changes were made, whichever comes first.”  Nothing else had worked up to that point, although we had tried.  People had protested.  People had gotten angry.  People had rose up.  People had died.  But the Powers That Were had already secured our future and by doing so, they just dismissed us. By this point, no one really cared anymore.  Except for the Dancing Tribe.

       They had started as a way to get people’s attention about what was happening around us.  This guy and his buddies had tapped into the communications grid and sent messages for groups to meet and to protest.  They pleaded, they tried to coax.  When no one listened to them, that’s when they started to just dance. They just danced. Some thought it was the most ridiculous thing ever conceived, but the movement did get stronger. When they started to dance across the land, they began to have more people join them.  People at one point thought that this dancing would begin a new era. That something could be done, but there was nothing else that could be done. The End was here.

       Back when they announced that The End was finally here, nobody cried.  They just gathered up and made do until their time came.  Oh, occasionally there was one who would scream and bellow, shouting prayers to the ominous grey clouds.  Or one who would go on a rampage killing whatever was in his path.  Or one who knew what the answer was and then vanished into the mist. Most of us still just wait.

       Now just these dancing youths travel the countryside, dancing with the last remains of civilization.  They used to make me mad.   I don’t know if it was jealousy or grief; but nowadays, I always give a little clap when I see a roving band dance into town.  Mrs. Green usually thumped my head when I did my little cheer.  Now she’s gone.

       For a long time the Dancing Tribe seemed to have disappeared.  When they finally returned, they seemed sadder.  They still had their smiles, but they seemed to shine less.  They rarely talked except to help take away the pain; when you did hear them speak, you knew another soul was at rest.

       The last time they danced down the street, they only talked to a few of the sickest older folks. “Dance on,” I yelled to them inside my head, as I pulled my old blanket tighter to me. Once a young long-haired lad caught me looking at him and smiled at me.  He walked toward me with a big grin, pushing back a curly lock to get a better look. I looked at him straight into his hazy blue eyes. He got close enough that I could see my reflection in his wide pupils. He looked deep into me. He leaned his curly head to the side, and started to reach into a pocket of his pants.  He started to say something, but then he heard the tambourine in the distance.  He shook his head slightly from side to side in time with the shakes of the tambourine. He closed his eyes, his mouth twisted into an orgasmic grin. He turned toward the sound and I held my breath until he moved away, dancing away down the street toward the clarion call.  I caught him glancing back before disappearing into the gray mist. I hunkered down a bit. I finally lifted up and looked around at all the people huddled together in small tight groups on the steps and at the base of nearby buildings.  The foggy mist rolled down the street, carrying away the teeth-clenching sound of the tambourine.  I always wonder when they will return.

copyright 2013 T.F.Clardy