I've come out of my studying hole to enter a competition. I promise that I'm not avoiding any (major) assignments to do this, I'm usually far too responsible for that.
I've never been so close to a deadline before! Needless to say, I've never missed one either.
This is my entry to the lovely Anna's 'Behind The Curtain' competition.
Details can be found HERE.
The photo from the 'Behind The Curtain' board that inspired me -
|Source - https://pinterest.com/ruanna/behind-the-curtain/|
I hope you enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading for my little slices of writing.
People filled the rows for the feathers and flowers and glitter of it all. Too many of them wanted aesthetics on a stage or the public to catch their presence, but she was about the sport and the skill. It was the only part that couldn’t be masked and no one had the dedication she did to make it shine more than the parade of costumes.
Behind her every pirouette was a boundary she’d pushed, that had once spanned her every action for too long. And she was still going, still motivated to break from a torrid past.
Nothing less than unending perseverance had brought her here.
She was no natural. She’d never captivate or turn a head on the street with her fluid steps. That was for the studio, for the pinpoint of a moment when the lights would shine and the instruments would trill a start, waiting for her to give it life.
Audience or not, it was a dream every time.
And that was as poetic as she’d ever be.
He’d snapped a box open, the new instructor, and the most fragile tune spun the room, light as a petal on the wind.
He’d pointed to the revolving figures on the miniature platform. “Imagine it. That you’re her.”
“A figurine.” Because, famous or not, she hadn’t been impressed by his methods.
“That you’re dancing with him. Not the music,” he continued. And then, “that you’re losing him. That you’re in danger of losing yourself.”
She’d crossed her arms, nothing but dubious. “Myself?”
She might have deserved it, but there’d been no agitation on his face. He’d simply said, with an air that exceeded just scholarly explanation, “Love will do a great many things to a person.”
Weeks later, he’d made her stumble.
He’d made her question.
Her breathing was shallow as she flipped his box open. The dancers resumed, set on the same corner where they had been during every practice.
She couldn’t stop the prick of tears at her eyes when the music began.
But it was easier than it’d ever been, this routine, when everything else was hard and brittle.
Because losing him was no longer unimaginable and she only wished it could be a little forgettable.
She’d known there’d been no other way; she'd never tiptoe along love and let herself weaken.
She’d come too far to let herself stumble.