On the Many Deaths of Amanda Palmer by Rohan Kriwaczek Read Free Book Online

face. Once everything was stowed in its proper place it was decided that they should carry her to the tour-coach and deliver her to her hotel room. By then it was clear that exhaustion was taking hold, and her movements had become increasingly violent and erratic. A doctor was called, sedatives were administered, but still Amanda danced on. It wasn’t until early evening the following day that her movements finally calmed as at last she sank into a deep restorative sleep.
    She must have slept for a good 16 hours but then as she woke the next morning, before she even had a chance to consider what might have happened, her toes began to tingle, then twitch, and the whole process began again. And so it continued, day after day, occasionally punctuated by long periods of sleep that served onlyto recharge her body for the next onslaught on dancing. She was taken to her home, a large house and garden in Brookline, and a nurse was employed to feed her by drip and bandage her swollen, bruised and bloodied feet as she slept, but still the dancing continued. Doctors were called, specialists brought in, even a retired anthropologist who had spent years studying the dancing pygmies of Namibia, but all to no avail.
    Of course all of this cost money, and lots of it, and despite her blossoming stardom her income was considerably depleted along the way by the many demands made upon it by record labels, agents, managers, producers, co-writers, ghost-writers, and all the other numerous hangers-on who had slowly inveigled their way into her inner circle, or at least into access to her bank balance. Without the ability to earn, for it was naturally impossible to sing, to perform, record, to give interviews or even run a business whilst being compelled to ceaselessly dance, it was not long before her funds began to shrink, and with them went much of her staff and, sadly, a fair number of her friends. As further months passed even the more loyal amongst her friends became tired of the continual concern and visits became infrequent. Finally the money ran dry, her house was listed for foreclosure, the nurse discharged herself of her duties, and it seemed as if Amanda might be left to slowly die of exhaustion and malnutrition, for she had no family to fall back upon, nobody to care for her, she was entirely alone.
    Or so she thought.
    ****
    Lavenia had died a week after the dancing started, but she had sensed that it had begun, and left Silas detailed instructions on how to proceed. Thus on the six month anniversary of his mother’s death Silas Monger VIII made his way to Mill Dam Road just in time to see Amanda cast from her house, and stand in the street dancing both aimlessly and with considerable vigour, tears rolling down her thinly drawn cheeks as the last of her furniture was repossessed. Once again she had nowhere to go, no one toturn to, but this time her luck seemed to have deserted her.
    She had no idea what to do. In her current state she couldn’t even approach a stranger or official for help. A doctor or policeman would take one look at her and have her put away for good in the loony bin. She wouldn’t be able to explain who she was or what had happened. She couldn’t even talk as she was constantly out of breath with the effort, let alone write. She was utterly and entirely lost and helpless.
    â€œAmanda? . . .” She recognised the voice and spun around in a clumsy and clearly unmotivated pirouette. Yes, it was Silas. She tried to speak but instead found herself waltzing around him in erratic circles.
    â€œCome with me Amanda, we can sort this out . . .” It was the best offer she had, indeed it was the only offer, and strangely, she found his presence almost reassuring, even comforting, in this most exceptional and difficult of circumstances. And so she went with him, for better and for worse, little aware of the tragic consequences that were shortly to unfold. Had she not, there is no doubt that her fate