Dancing Drama Novels & Stories

LYRA Sometime during the night, the music stops being individual songs and it all turns into one endless, thundering heartbeat. Sweat is slicking my spine from all the dancing. My red dress clings like a second skin, damp and dangerous, and my ponytail no longer sleek but wild at the edges. Ellie is now dancing on a raised platform like she was born there, her black dress riding even higher as she laughs at absolutely nothing. Talia has her heels off and dangling from her fingertips. The skirt sways as her dance moves become less graceful and more reckless. At one point, I even find her twerking.

“It doesn’t. But I can’t think of that now! I need to dress up!” I focused on my dance pieces. I had one with Sarah and some guys. It was a contemporary piece that told a story of a girl who was in love with a guy all her life, but he didn’t have eyes for her. He wanted another girl who was coveted by many others. I was the coveted girl. Sarah played the lead part. It was a difficult piece with many twists and turns and some lifting. It was acting, not just dancing. We got an encore at the end of our performance. Sarah performed brilliantly, and I was pretty sure I provided a good supporting performance.

A dangerous aura emanated from him, making the others dare move closer to him. At the far secluded side across the dance floor, Dylan saw his mate dancing along with the people he saw in the picture. She clung herself to the man’s neck, burying her nose on his chest while her waist swayed seductively from side to side. The afro-haired woman sandwiching her from behind, holding her waist as she dances as well.

"You're underestimating me? Huh! Is there anything Drex Ethan can't do?" "Hula dancing! You definitely can't do that!" Elea challenged. "Watch me!" Drex took the bait. He stood beside Elea and began to move, attempting to mimic the dancers' graceful sways. "A pair of brats. Honestly, how ridiculous," Flo muttered, sipping on fresh coconut water from the sidelines. Elea burst into laughter. Drex's tall, muscular frame was far too stiff for the dance; he couldn't get his rhythm right at all. Instead of being embarrassed, Drex leaned into the madness, dancing even more wildly with Elea.

I don't know if it was my soreness or my inability to understand why that made me blurt out, "Why am I doing a workout routine instead of dancing?" "What are the five elements that all forms of dance and creative movement have in common?" he answered my question with one of his own. Utterly confused I started listing: "body, action, space, time and energy." "Good. We're working on the body element first." He said, looking at me like I should've known this already. And I should've. It was after all part of my early days junior year theory. I didn't know what it was that had put me in such a horrible mood. I couldn't tell if it was my insufficient sleep, the email from my mother or the dream a

It’s a feral, unhinged sound that hits me right in the chest. Nyra’s face turns ashen. She watches from the sidelines, her hands clenching into fists. She thought her silk-clad pirouettes were the peak of the performance, but she’s forgotten that she’s playing to wolves, not pampered pets. Darius tries to recover with a street-dance set, but he’s alone, his bravado failing to fill the massive space. Leyla attempts a vocal hymn, but her voice is too melodic, too thin for the harsh, jagged mountains.

The hands were large, their palms burning with heat, sending electric jolts of warmth through my body. "Don't be scared. It's just a regular dance," one of them whispered. Seeing how lost in the performance Abigail was, I didn't want to disrupt the mood of the stage, so I stayed silent, tacitly allowing them to lead me. I started to move in time with him, his hands resting on my waist, his body pressed tightly against mine. I was surprised by his dancing skills, but the closeness of our positions made me feel uncomfortable. "Focus. Dancing is an art form," he said, noticing my distracted state. He leaned in, his breath close to my ear, and whispered the reminder, punctuating it with a playfu

Still craving a man who's shown me I'm nothing but a piece of ass to him. So I lift my glass, drain what's left, and paste the smirk back on my face like armor. "C'mon, cuz. Let's dance. I don't wanna talk about men problems tonight." Daisha grins. "Now that's the energy I'm lookin' for." She grabs my hand, dragging me straight into the crush of bodies. The dancefloor moves like one giant wave under the flashing lights, shoulder to shoulder, heat and sweat rolling through the air thick enough to taste. Daisha's already in her element—dropping low, throwing her ass back like she's auditioning for Beyoncé's next tour.

He answered small talk briefly while I tried to keep the mood warmer with friendly conversation. After the meal, we were led to an open amphitheatre in the centre of the palace. “As part of the welcome,” Dren whispered beside us, “our people wish to present the Dance of the Burning Soul.” The performance began. The pacing was bloody slow, clearly meant to show off their culture. A group of female dancers entered the stage, moving gracefully as flames burst from their palms, forming dragon shapes swirling through the air. Sandra told me she preferred the ancient western songs they were singing—stories about the birth of fire falling from the sky to warm humanity.