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I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
He was a skipping record, singing out only the first few lines only to break off before finishing. It wasn’t a failing memory to blame, he knew those lyrics by heart, it was something else. A mantra of sorts. Or a reminder for anyone who could hear him.
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
He came into existence confused at first. He couldn’t place his surroundings. A strange dark room boarded up partially. His only companion had been a strange machine which he realized must have spit him out given the oozing black ink he was standing in poured from the nozzle. When he heard the noise by the boarded entrance he quickly reached for whatever was on the other side. Realizing a little too late that his arm was much longer than it should have been scarring off whatever had been close. Only catching sight of the receding back of a person who vaguely seemed familiar.
Going back to himself he realized that whatever had happened in the machine had gone horribly wrong. Disfigured and misshapen he curled in on himself. First the grief of what he was forced to become. Then the rage. It was that person’s fault. That person had turned the machine on wrong. That person had caused this to happen to him. That person must hurt like he hurt.
He then stretched out. Beginning to test what this form could do. His arms and legs could elongate and retract. He could add more to his form when surrounded by ink. He could even enter the ink and reform elsewhere. He knew he had to find them. Make them fix what had been done or make them pay. How else was he supposed to do what he had truly been created for?
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
He’d been following the person for a while from behind. He wasn’t about to give himself away just yet. The person’s stoic mannerisms were somewhat strange to him. Why was the person not afraid? Why was the person pushing forward? Why did the person continue?
Accidentally moving a little too fast caused him to bump the person’s foot slightly from the ink puddle he was inhabiting. Then he saw his face, Henry, his creator.
He remembered the countless hours his creator had spent over his desk, sketching, inking, writing. He remembered the faint smile when he finished his story boards or the final stroke of an ink filled brush on a page. Henry had cared.
Had was the operative word. Leaving the studio and leaving him with Joey Drew whose sanity had slowly slipped away piece by piece. Joey Drew who had started attempting black magic to create them. Joey Drew who created the machine. Joey Drew who was to blame. Henry was not forgiven for what he had done, but Joey Drew was the one who would suffer the most.
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
He wouldn’t though. He remembered the smiles. He remembered the laughter. He remembered the love and kindness. He wanted it back. A purpose. His purpose. To entertain. To make the darkness recede from the lives of others. To smile and joke and dance and sing so that those who were lost and down would pick themselves up.
But he couldn’t do that now. Not like this. Not as macabre insult to what he had been.
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I won’t forget-
He had hidden himself away in a corner of the studio that had long since been abandoned. Just as he had been by his creator. He curled in on himself, ink dripping off his arms as they enclosed his legs, gloved and ungloved fingers driving into his back.
It hurt. All of him hurt. But when he closed his eyes he could see those memories as fresh as the day they were made. And it hurt even worse. Small streams of ink dripping down his face over his permanent smile, which had turned into a grimace, and onto the floor. The pain of his existence was unbearable.
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But- but-
He broke. The small streams now poured down his face. His grip on himself tightened further. And sobs began to escape from him. Slowly, shakily, and almost silently at first rising in volume and intensity until he was bawling, his face pointed to the ceiling and his grip on himself gone as his arms lay weak against his side.
His memories of happiness long out of reach. His memories of love only to become heartache. His memories of his purpose nothing but a daydream of things that had been.
I’m the dancing demon
Watch me twirl and hop and spin
I might be quick to smile
But I wish I could forget