A final dance at the end of the world.

   They danced. The music crooned out of an old gramophone in the corner. It threw large echoes in the empty hall.
   It was an old Italian song about regaining lost love. The only other sound was their steps on the wooden floor, clicking in time to the scratched music.
   The old hall was filled with the deep red light that now was all that was left of the sky. The city was empty except for the two old dancers.
   ‘Do you think Emma and the children are safe?’ she asked as her wrinkled partner spun her around.
   ‘Safe as any of us, they’ll be in the bunkers now.’ His voice was deep and warm even after sixty years together. The music slowed their step.
   ‘Do you think we could have stopped it?’ Her tone was concerned but devoid of fear.
   ‘I don’t think so. The fate of the world always rests in the hands of very few. We did all that we could. It was not enough.’
   ‘Emma was angry with us. I wish we could have made her understand. This is our world, our final moments.’ She said this more to herself then to her dancing partner. He seemed to understand and just adjusted his step.
   The music slowed to a halt and two readied themselves for the next dance and as the next song begun, the room was filled with two bright flashes.
   In moments the bombs would break through the blood red sky but they danced. Not quickly, but at pace with the tempo.
   They danced as the wave of deadly light filled the hall. And at that moment, they danced with their memories.


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