The girls continued their dance, and to the old pedagogue every movement was full of poetry. They advanced, retreated, pirouetted, their arms waving from side to side above their heads, their heads swaying, their garments fluttering, their veils hiding their features, yet seeming to show glimpses of dark, flashing eyes beyond.

By dan, January 20, 2013.

Found in Dick Merriwell’s Pranks, authored by Burt L. Standish.


Kicking her right leg forward with pointed toes and felxed calf muscles, the darked haired girl pivoted in a revolving whirl of sharp precision and accurate grace. She wanted this as badly as she wanted to breathe. The entirty of her being began advancing in movement with purpouseful clarity and absolute control. With each poised stride she took, it became crippeling obvious just how demanding and rigorusly punishing the practice of this sequence had been on her body.

By aurorabell, October 14, 2014.

All day long I've been sitting at this desk, paper work piling higher and higher. Save the trees, huh? I don't think the managers here have ever heard of that. The clock ticks on the wall and I swear it's slowing down. Sitting here alone makes me flatter than a week old glass of coke. Every time I don't have to think about the task at hand I'm already dancing, dancing in the club to music so loud it makes me deaf. I won't be alone either, the whole gang is coming. With that music, that beat, those crazy, crazy lights I know I'm alive, I'm real, and reality is awesome. By the end of the night I'm quite drunk, I should cut back but who's counting? We leave arm in arm, wobbling down the lamp-lit alley to hail a cab. The next day I check out the photos and laugh my ass off. Those girls are so precious. They get me through. I love'em.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 12, 2015.