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Flow

This was an 80 word flash-fiction for a writing competition I have entered.

Flow.

Colours are twisting and pulsing through my hands, my legs swing with salient beauty over my head. My converse trainers squeak against the wooden floor, smudging into the world around me. People are cheering, I hop to my feet and pull my hat lower. Lights fell on me; the air held vibrancy with their joy. If I knew all I had to do to win a breakdance competition was fall over on stage, I would have done it years ago.

And there you go. That was it. Thanks for reading.

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