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The Dancing Man of the Fifteenth Block by Squidmanescape

NOTE TO SELF: I MUST FINISH THE FIRST STORY BEFORE THIS ONE!

He danced like a jabbering fire. His head twisted around his body and spat curses upon the ground as his arms slithered like snakes with their heads caught in lawnmowers. No one dared touch his body, not least because they knew not whether he was simply insane or some sort of possessed cadaver. There were those who swore that they had seen him never move from the spot where he stood, as if chained to some infernal source of energy from which he could never break free. Indeed, people were never loath to repeat the tales of the men who had stood before him, looked into those hollow eyes for too long, and went completely mad.

One of those people would never leave his house. He was sometimes accosted by small children who waved about like blades of grass in the wind before kindly, sweetly, asking if he was really, truly insane. He was kind to these innocents, refuting this and limping away from the broken first-floor window from which they inevitably conducted these somewhat offensive conversations. But sometimes, less often now, the questioning stare from his window was too focused and old. He would not hesitate to clasp his hands firmly around the necks of these serpents, watching in satisfaction as they bellowed their last words to the beastly redefinition of the Creation. He told the children that he felt no remorse, and that those people had brought it upon themselves for daring step foot on his property. This sort of frightening logic was not the sort of thing for children to hear, and so the townsfolk decided to evict him, and his whereabouts are unknown as of now. But he lives on in old tales, and no one dares stand near his once-dangerous window.

Another man was a beggar, one cast from his warm, enlightened hearth to the harsh and unforgiving roadside. Some said that their fathers had seen him croon to the heavens, back when he'd had a family and his alacrity was legendary. They said that on the first few days of his exile, he had screamed pop songs to the heavens, and people had put money in his hat. Then he tried to help the youth with their schoolwork, but he was much too kind, charging absolutely nothing for this, as if the world would compensate for his act of kindness completely on its own. He had went to the fifteenth housing block in despair, for even though he hadn't lived there, he had learned of this man, and thought that if he were to die, the last thing he would do was go up to him and ask some question.

Many people will stress that he was not quite well before the incident. Considering his abandonment and subsequent failures, that is indeed a possibility. However, it does not change the fact that after he spoke to the dancing man, whose response was utter silence, he walked away and broke his back by falling down a flight of concrete stairs. He wouldn't, or couldn't, tell anyone why he had done it, but after he was put in the hospital, he had to use a wheelchair. For a stretch of about two months, no one helped him, but afterwards, his family decided to raise the money to do so, and he moved far away from here. It is generally agreed that he teaches children in the far north where few go.

This story is technically under construction.

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