Magic Dance: Part 1

Dancing was my favorite pastime. On the dancing floor I would clog, and I would shimmy till my feet were sore. But one day my dancing ended. I've myself to blame. Here's the story of my failure and my deepest shame. Through a park I once was running: heading to a dance when I saw an odd, disheveled, creepy man by chance. "Boy ahoy!" exclaimed the stranger, "help a weary bloke. I'm alone, I'm lost, I'm hungry and completely broke!" "Lost and hungry!" I retorted. "No skin off my back. I'm off to do the samba. See you later, Jack!" Then I turned around and darted through the rustling trees. Soon I joined the other dancers with my usual ease. Oh, you should have seen me leaping, flying through the air! In my mind was joyous motion — not a single care. So I twisted, danced the limbo, did the bunny hop. But when all the music ended… I just couldn't stop! 'Twas as if my legs were moving to a silent tune. I kept hoping that this frenzy would be over soon. But despite my desperate yearning for a well-earned break There was something in my body that I couldn't shake. I began to cry and holler, even tried to pray. So somebody called a doctor who came right away. But his doctoring did nothing to arrest my fit. A syringe with tranquilizer didn't help one bit. The police arrived and promptly tried to stop me too. They put handcuffs on my ankles, yet it wouldn't do. Even though the cuffs were made of very sturdy steel, they were snapped in but a second by my hellish reel. Then four firemen tried water to put out my shame. All that liquid would have conquered a volcano's flame. In the end the other dancers stood there soaking wet while I kept on twitching madly to my deep regret. Cont'd in Magic Dance: Part 2