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The Spell Will Never Be Truly Broken
By Benji: The Vampire Confuser

Based on Godspell by David Greene and John-Michael Tebelak.

“Day by day, day by day.” She sang under her breath as she made her way through the brush to the rusted old fence looming ahead of her. “Oh dear Lord, three things I pray.”

32 years. It had been 32 years since that day. That one, unforgettable, incredible day. 32 years since she’d last stepped foot in New York City. So much had changed. The twin towers were gone now, the cab driver who she’d been disappointed to see was not the man she’d met before, told her that even four years later he still wasn’t used to not seeing them.
She’d danced on the roof of one of those towers, once upon a time. At least, she hoped she had.

The tour had commenced the following week. And she hadn’t been back since. Life first as a dancer, now as a teacher had taken her to all corners of the world. Far from here. And part of her had been glad. For she’d been afraid. Afraid of what she might find, or not find, if she returned.

Where were you? The others had asked. She’d merely smiled to herself, and told them she’d gone for a walk to unwind.

Her hand trembled as she grasped the old gate. It screeched in protest as she pulled it open. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the yard.

Whatever she found, she would always be grateful to the mysterious men she’d met that day. Even if they were nothing but figments of her imagination.

In the grueling days of rehearsal, she’d begun to doubt. Not only her own talent, but if dancing was truly what she wanted to do with her life. But she’d returned from her unexpected pilgrimage full of new life, and inspiration. And the joy of her chosen profession reborn in her heart.

She gasped, tears coming to her eyes, her hand rising to her mouth. It was overgrown, the paint was chipped and faded. But it was real. The evidence stood before her, cracked and crumbling with age. But there was the car, repainted silver with rainbows. There was the sunburst on the garage door. And there was the door they’d used as a table. When they’d recreated the last supper.

How was it possible? Where had the others gone? Had that really been John the Baptist and Jesus? And in the end, did it really matter?

She’d never considered herself a religious woman. Not before, or since that day. But something had happened that day. Someone, or something had chosen to touch her that day. And she lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes, and simply breathed. Wherever they were, she hoped the others knew what she knew. The joy of life. And that the spell cast over them that day was still there, in their hearts.

The End