No. 1

This is the first of the stories that I did (for write a novel November a while back), it’s not the best, but I suppose it is somewhat interesting to see how writing style and abilities change over time. (I assure you my writing does get better.)

I stood in the ballroom as the ghostly shapes whirled around me. Music, haunting and beautiful, seemed to fill the space with almost heard whispers. The women wore outfits that looked like they must weigh twenty pounds or more with all the petticoats and whatnot, and the men were wearing formal waistcoats and top hats.
                Ghostly top hats were new.
                I almost wanted to join in the dance, a lovely thing involving much twirling and waltzing. So very different from what we considered dancing today, this held elegance, something seemingly long lost from now. And the music, the music was so very odd, it brought thoughts of flying, and yet spinning through a field at the same time. As well as emotions, a mixture of elation and sorrow, hellos and goodbyes, forevers and nevers.
                As I looked around I noticed another thing, there were a few people dressed in more modern cloths, some even looking like they could almost have been bought a few years ago. It seemed that some had chosen to join the ranks, to forget themselves in the music and the steps, to leave all the worries and forgotten things behind. To simply dance.
                But this was not what I would choose, I loved this world, with all its cracks and faults. I turned, my steps adding an odd cadence to the music, already fading as I headed to the door.
                Stepping back outside I made a promise to myself that I would remember this, remember that I had chosen this world, but already the music was fading from my mind, the faces and dresses, the top hats. Leaving only the half remembered tune of something haunting and beautiful.

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