Dancing For Vincente

 

            Unfortunately, “High” School has been a disappointment. I understand that it takes some time to build an audience, but my Friday Fiction segment has the least amount of traffic and virtually no responses to it. I am discontinuing the story and will replace it, for the time being, with offerings for the Snapshot Prompt over at Chasing Revery.

            The prompt used the picture below and needed to include the following words: Flamenco, Spotlight, Mud, Runway, and Tragedy. Whether poem, story, or just a segment of a story the bit should be less than 500 words; however, I like the challenge of putting out a complete story in that short amount of space.

 

 

 

           

            Mom and Dad wanted to see the great Vincente Montoya perform the Flamenco at the Druid’s Retreat. They kept talking about how it was “a rare opportunity that few had the fortune to attend.” That usually meant boring.

            When the lights went out and the spotlight followed the dancer as he marched down the runway it looked as if this outing might not be too boring. Vincente swung his hands to his side and stomped his feet, making more noise than an entire room of kindergarteners. This would definitely be the guy to get if you had a bug problem at your house.

            Then it was over. Watching the Flamenco hadn’t been boring at all. Dad wanted to wait in the foyer and meet Vincente. Let him. There were better uses of time than standing around for the rest of the day hoping that Mr. Stomps would come out so that his fans could gush all over him. Yeech.

            A trip to the bathroom turned into a stroll through the building and then outside where there was plenty of tempting mud. Straying off the path could only end in “tragedy” and there was really no need since a stone path led out to a strange hedge in the back.

            The path ended in a green door that was set in the middle of the brush. It opened easily and revealed a beautiful garden inside. This was a perfect place to spend an hour, or so, while the parents sought an audience with the King of Dance.

            All of the trees, flowers, and chirping birds belonged alongside elves and pixies. Those thought in turn led to images of fantastic creatures dancing in the middle of this green heaven.

            Tap. Tap. Tippity-tap.

            Unheard music inspired an impromptu dance.

            Tap. Rappa-tap. Tippity-tap-tap.

            Of all the ideas Mom and Dad had come up with, this one turned out to be the best.

            The internal music stopped.

            “Bravo.” The voice of a man came from the entrance of the garden. It was deep and friendly. More importantly though, it was Vincente Montoya.