Born to be
By Brianna Williams
The sound of sighs and murmurs escape from unseen lips.
A clunk and a click are the only warnings before a pool of light blinds her, filling her vision. Heat pours over her skin and she looks up to the sound of applause only seeing shadow-like shapeless masses.
Tick! Tick! Tick!
The first cello harmonies emanate from the sidelines. It’s time.
Slowly she rises from the polished floor, feeling the chaffing of chiffon on her skin where her tutu rests.
“One, two, three”.
“One, two, three”.
She counts the beats silently in her head, moving her body in time as if the strings from the violins use her as their puppet.
A soft whooshing is heard in her ears, as her feet leave the ground, arching gracefully in mid-air for that split second before gravity reunites her feet to the floor.
She feels the pull on her muscles, her true strength hidden beneath the gracefulness of flowing limbs. The ache of her feet, when she balances on her toes, is not seen on the gentle expression painted on her doll-like face.
Sweat begins to bead on the nape of her neck and the music picks up the pace.
A warm rough hand grabs her own and their bodies intertwine. Her vision becomes a world of swirls, shadows and flashing lights. Heat radiates from their skin as their bodies meet and a sense of loss exudes as they part.
The music reaches a crescendo, the high pitched flutes mimicking birds crying to be released from a cage. The harmonies abruptly stop, along with her movement, before picking up a softer, slower tone as she sinks back down to the smooth darkness of the floor from where she began.
The lights release a final flash before going black, like a supernova blinking out of existence. A roar of applause, shouts and cheers call out from the shadows of the audience as the roses they throw rain down at her feet.