Dance For Me, Darling
The End
One and two. Step. Step. One and two. Turn. Repeat.
One and two. Step. Step. One and two. Turn. Repeat.
One and two. Step. Step. One and two. Turn. Repeat.
I can see our instructor through the mirrors on the wall, and I watch her as she barks out the routine that many, if not all, of us could do in our sleep. From where I am, I can see the hard look in her eyes as she watches on in envy at what she can no longer do. At one point, our instructor was a wonderful ballerina, the best there was, but now she is old, and can no longer dance like she used too. In her younger years, her body was beautiful and as graceful as a swan, but now, she says, it is like a prison, keeping her spirit locked up inside.
As our instructor calls for us to turn, I do so with flawlessness, until I’m at the point were I face the rest of the girls and I staggered for a moment at the sight in front of me. Shocked, I realize that everyone, everything, in the room is ablaze. Even the air seems to be on fire. As I finish my turn, I falter again as I look in the mirror and see that everything is back to normal. I ignore it and continue dancing, figuring it is my imagination, but as I repeat the turn, the same seen plays before my eyes with the same ending.
For a long time it goes on like this, until on one turn, when I again face the mirrors, everything is still on fire. Other then myself, no one seems to notice, so I go on dancing. If they can’t be bothered, then I sure as hell can’t be either. The recital that we are practicing for may be my last chance to get into Juilliard, and I won’t have them mess it up for me.
As we continued the steps, I secretly watch the progression of the fire. Almost like an ocean wave, it crawls up the wall, recedes, and then comes back and climbs higher still. On the floor, the flames seem to be dancing with us, keeping time with the steps.
Suddenly, there is a horrible, mangled noise, coming form the back of the room. One of the other girls steps out of sync with the rest of us, and starts running around wildly, screaming in pain. Trying to regain the harmony, our instructor rushes over to her and tries to get the girl to continue, but instead, she lets out another piercing scream and runs towards the mirrors.
The girl continues forward, running into the mirrors without really noticing. As she falls to the floor, withering in agony, a crack runs up the face of glass, and continues up the rest of the wall and across the ceiling. All at once, the mirrors shatter and the roof crumbles around us, leaving us exposed to the outside world. As soon as the flames are free of our small studio, they spread wildly to other buildings and people. With the momentum from the other girl’s scene, the rest of the ballerina’s follow suite and start running around screaming.
Along with the fire, great cracks in the Earth threaten to tear apart the city and devour anyone foolish enough to step too close to them. In the background, you can hear sirens, the frantic pleas for help of the people who were in the fire’s path, and the unspoken consensus that this is the end; the Apocalypse.
With a look of defeat,our, my instructor finally gives up on trying to get the girls back together, and comes over to me. With a bit of resentment in her voice, she continues announcing the steps, giving me all the attention that I deserve. If the others don’t want to become great, that’s their problem, but I will be perfect. I am perfect.
As I’m dancing, a young girl comes out of the crowd and runs up to me. She too is on fire, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The girl starts pulling on my tutu, messing me up, and I am about to yell at her when she opens her mouth and starts to speak.
“Come on, Jerri, wake up.” I try to ignore her but she continues to speak.
“Jerri, snap out of it.” Once again, I don’t answer.
“Jerri Fisher! I said wake up!” The anger in her voice confuses me, because on the outside, she looks happy.
“Ignore her,” my instructor says in a whisper. “This will all be worth it in the end.”
I know that she’s right. I know that this will be worth it. Someday, I will be the best, better than I am now, and I’m not going to listen to the ravings of some random stranger.
With this in mind, I pull away from her, forcing her to lose her grip on my tutu. I forget about what is going on around me, clear my head, and continue dancing.
One and two. Step. Step. One and two. Turn. Repeat.
One and two. Step. Step. One and two. Turn. Repeat.
I can see our instructor through the mirrors on the wall, and I watch her as she barks out the routine that many, if not all, of us could do in our sleep. From where I am, I can see the hard look in her eyes as she watches on in envy at what she can no longer do. At one point, our instructor was a wonderful ballerina, the best there was, but now she is old, and can no longer dance like she used too. In her younger years, her body was beautiful and as graceful as a swan, but now, she says, it is like a prison, keeping her spirit locked up inside.
As our instructor calls for us to turn, I do so with flawlessness, until I’m at the point were I face the rest of the girls and I staggered for a moment at the sight in front of me. Shocked, I realize that everyone, everything, in the room is ablaze. Even the air seems to be on fire. As I finish my turn, I falter again as I look in the mirror and see that everything is back to normal. I ignore it and continue dancing, figuring it is my imagination, but as I repeat the turn, the same seen plays before my eyes with the same ending.
For a long time it goes on like this, until on one turn, when I again face the mirrors, everything is still on fire. Other then myself, no one seems to notice, so I go on dancing. If they can’t be bothered, then I sure as hell can’t be either. The recital that we are practicing for may be my last chance to get into Juilliard, and I won’t have them mess it up for me.
As we continued the steps, I secretly watch the progression of the fire. Almost like an ocean wave, it crawls up the wall, recedes, and then comes back and climbs higher still. On the floor, the flames seem to be dancing with us, keeping time with the steps.
Suddenly, there is a horrible, mangled noise, coming form the back of the room. One of the other girls steps out of sync with the rest of us, and starts running around wildly, screaming in pain. Trying to regain the harmony, our instructor rushes over to her and tries to get the girl to continue, but instead, she lets out another piercing scream and runs towards the mirrors.
The girl continues forward, running into the mirrors without really noticing. As she falls to the floor, withering in agony, a crack runs up the face of glass, and continues up the rest of the wall and across the ceiling. All at once, the mirrors shatter and the roof crumbles around us, leaving us exposed to the outside world. As soon as the flames are free of our small studio, they spread wildly to other buildings and people. With the momentum from the other girl’s scene, the rest of the ballerina’s follow suite and start running around screaming.
Along with the fire, great cracks in the Earth threaten to tear apart the city and devour anyone foolish enough to step too close to them. In the background, you can hear sirens, the frantic pleas for help of the people who were in the fire’s path, and the unspoken consensus that this is the end; the Apocalypse.
With a look of defeat,our, my instructor finally gives up on trying to get the girls back together, and comes over to me. With a bit of resentment in her voice, she continues announcing the steps, giving me all the attention that I deserve. If the others don’t want to become great, that’s their problem, but I will be perfect. I am perfect.
As I’m dancing, a young girl comes out of the crowd and runs up to me. She too is on fire, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The girl starts pulling on my tutu, messing me up, and I am about to yell at her when she opens her mouth and starts to speak.
“Come on, Jerri, wake up.” I try to ignore her but she continues to speak.
“Jerri, snap out of it.” Once again, I don’t answer.
“Jerri Fisher! I said wake up!” The anger in her voice confuses me, because on the outside, she looks happy.
“Ignore her,” my instructor says in a whisper. “This will all be worth it in the end.”
I know that she’s right. I know that this will be worth it. Someday, I will be the best, better than I am now, and I’m not going to listen to the ravings of some random stranger.
With this in mind, I pull away from her, forcing her to lose her grip on my tutu. I forget about what is going on around me, clear my head, and continue dancing.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word Count: 851