Short Stories

Razik Dibi was asleep with his eyes partially closed and palms laid placidly on his chest. He dreamt of being eaten by an effervescing hippopotamus wallowing in mud, gleefully shaking off its excrement with its fanning tail. The alarm rang at half past three as his students assembled at his dance studio twelve blocks away. Razik was happy to get an early start to the day. He skipped out of bed and began to administer clinical care to what stood to be his money-makers: face, figure, voice, and soul. Stretching his arms above his head, he clenched his fist, grasping the air, and funnelled numinous forces into all seven chakras from his crown to his spine. Then, after harnessing heavenly beams, he would transfer their energy to his face with caressing palms. Throughout this mystical exercise, he jogged softly in place, humming sonorous invocations.