Dance of Doom

Late to the challenge, he weeped,
until offered one more chance to take.

With his sleek hat and steady feet,
he gave his best under the ominous rain.

He fell once, but later found the beat,
oblivious to tides of boiling rage.

A filthy rat licked at his tired soles,
all while he looked around this newfound murky cell.

He found no crowds, no stage, no claims of gold,
only a shockscape made of everlasting hell.

~*~

This story is linked with Lillie McFerrin's Five Sentence Fiction.