Yuri Korotkov. Dancing ghosts (№ 158636)

Not a single coherent thought in his head. Only the red flash before my eyes. Only the Mat through clenched teeth along with your breath. And the hand of the clock on the wall if stuck. Buzzing legs like cast iron. His knees buckled themselves. Soft ballet shoes harness the foot, like sandpaper. The soul flies onward and upward, and the heavy body barely dragging behind...