The Pretty Poison

.PART 7 - Symbolic Dance: The Mask of Life

.PART 7 – Symbolic Dance: The Mask of Life

Longing and desperation lead her to a curse of eternal sorrow. Those are the words best to describe the breathing movements of the dark-skinned girl. Her deep brown eyes search the empty stage, turning and pacing. The light taps on the piano keys bring forth the sense of a lonely life and its echoes bring tears.

A graceful leap flutters the edges of her white dress above the misty floor. The fabric floods through the air and ripples like currents of wind. From the audience seats you can see the shimmering of the pearlescent threads, reflecting the pale color that best suits her haunted despondency. The girl pulls her leg behind her to become parallel with her back, staying upright for a moment before gravity pulls her down. The fading elasticity forces her into a lunging pose but she picks up her thin body to stand again. Elegance is her nature and it shows in her slender face.

The bun she wears may keep the hair from falling to her eyes but the balance she loves is taken away. Running to the left, she feels and hears the wind pass her ears. The dancer stops, standing on her toes and beckoning for someone or anyone to remove the forlorn emotions she keeps. The stage remains empty; its stillness continues in the dim blue lighting.

Cross the floor, follow the spotlight. Her head whips to the same view as she sashays. Solo or not, she will finish her story. Her switch-leap bounds in the air, kicking her leg behind and stretching her fingers above and out beyond her sight. The music begins to repeat, sounding violins in the silver air.

A young man appears from the wings of the stage and joins her seamlessly. His hand takes hers as they glide across the black floor, stirring the low hanging fog. She leaps in faith and her unknown partner responds accordingly. His strong arms hold her steady and softly bring her down. As they continue, their footwork lightly treads the stage before moving to its next placement. It is otherworldly beautiful. It is serene.

It will not last.

When her outstretched arms are finally turned to see her partner, a smile spreads upon her lips. His dirty blonde hair, which flows gently past his ears, reminds her of the princes she longed for in her childhood. Her leg wraps around his torso and he pulls her across the stage. Her hand caresses his face while he drags her foot along. This is the beautiful romance she always wanted. When the two come to a halt, the girl spins in his grip and he lays her on the floor. Her love grows stronger. His eyes grow hungry.

The prince cradles the dancer in his arms as lovers do. She breathes in as her back rolls to sit forward once more. A hand reaches for his as he stands but the boy turns away. He caught what he wanted and now he leaves with his finishing. His strides are resolute as he exits stage left.

Standing on her own, she holds her arms from the chill of being used. First loves never last but hers had never started. But there is no time for crying; her story must go on.

The girl moves like wind and water, sifting and breezing across the floor. She grabs ends of her billowy skirts and drapes them through the air. Her chin remains high but her gaze continues to flicker down. Doubt is growing stronger in her heart.

A second boy enters. The dancer sees him approach with an empty hand waiting for hers. Reservation crosses her face before she takes his palm in blind trust. There is no time for her to question his motives. He twirls her, holding her arms and walking around her turning body. The girl relaxes and begins to accept him. Not long after, he begins to gaze away and soon his interest is looking elsewhere. Letting her hold the difficult pose on her own, he ignores the shaking of tired limbs. He leaves through the same curtain he came from with nothing to show he ever was there.

Another lover passes by, turning her and leaving as quickly as the first two. Men become plentiful. Love, however, is not. The dancer leans into their arms but never longer than what they will use of her. She is never good enough for them.

She wants a man to stay but none ever do. She believes they never will.

Alone once again, the girl twirls on point. Her dress drifts like petals of a flower opening to a morning sun. The brightness of it not only contrasts her skin but the purity she believes of herself. A tear can be seen trailing down her cheek, glistening with the paling glow of the in the spotlight.

Somewhere in the pit, a cello sings aloud her story of hopelessness. Only one thing remains on the mind of the girl as the music begins to increase in emotional strength. Violins scream desolation and despair. She extends her arms to the lighting fixtures above her, grasping at the reasoning she desires. Nothing but the ghost of her cold past drifts through her fingers. The dancer decides then to end her own story. Her battles are lost.

The implication of a desperate attempt is seen through her motions of struggle. They are not fits of anger or cries for freedom. The struggle is a decision of life, best shown when she drops to her knees in finished choosing.

The dancer’s face lifts to the light, wet with anguish and peaceful acknowledgement. Love was never hers and she believes love is life. Her arms reach to the sky, hailing to the God she wishes to accept as true. Perpetually down turned lips are silently calling a name which will never be heard. Her fingers clench to her palms and her arms are thrown hard to the floor. The stage rings out grand thuds from her wrists impacting the wood. It ricochets into the audience and dampens their eyes. The girl repeats until her body lays still and her strength deteriorates.

In the moment after her dangerous repetition, a couple enters on stage. The woman’s hair flairs out as she turns from her husband’s grasp. She beams in the spotlight but her smile quickly fades once she finds the unmoving girl.

The haunted dancer is carried by the man and placed in the center of the stage. Scarlet ribbons are tied to her wrists by his wife and the girl is brought back to the life she loathes. The composition from the orchestra slows; not quite ending but neither is it fully moving. The dark girl breathes in ragged gulps of air on the stage, echoing them in the theatre. Fortune favors her body but not her soul.

Swelling with the music, she stands tall with a false pride to show her saviors the gratitude they deserve. They caress her face in a friendly affection before parting. Their eyes show knowledge of her misleading words. The dancer will not keep to her pride but they do all they could accomplish. The two exit through the left wing, praying the girl will fight for survival.

She will not.

The streamers dangle from the lone dancer’s wrists as she soars to the front of the stage. Sashay, sashay, passé. Her turns and leaps are desperate attempts to the unseen hope. The girl finds solitude in the last moments of her dance. Graceful solitude. But soon her loneliness creeps in again. This time it is wanted.

A last spin on point causes the ribbons to circle her body in a stunning show. From the audience seats, you could hear the force of her spiral whipping the edges of the red streamers. The girl slows and lowers her right leg in a less graceful manner. She is tired. She is finished. Her dancing is catching her up.

The dark dancer kneels to one leg as the music fades. The scarlet ribbons flow to the ground, trying hard to keep to the air they enjoy. They land with the receding light in a delicate fashion. Only a single spotlight from above illuminates the stage. The dancer lives yet but unwelcomingly so. Another day, she thinks.

Her arms cross as she bends towards her pointed toes. The lights turn off and blackness swells in the theatre. Her story is not finished but her passion is. Replaced with abandonment and distrust, her anticipation is gone forevermore.

Silence.