Writing Stuffs

Noel Marie

She looks at herself in the mirror, making sure she's ready to go. Her blonde hair is in a beehive updo, done perfectly by herself. Her eyelids are covered with a light shade of gold, her eyelashes long and blackened with mascara. Her soft, usually pink, lips were coated with bright red while her cheekbones showed a lighter shade. She ran her hands down her outfit, which wasn't much. Just a white leotard with black leggings. She then reached up and clutched the locket hanging around her neck for barely a moment. The corners of her mouth tug upward, creating a smile at herself, before she tears herself away from the mirror. She walks into a dark room and gets in position before she hears the sound of the lights turning on and then applause. She reaches her arms up in the air, bending backwards, and begins to move her upper body around. Soon she's prancing delicately around the stage, spinning and crossing her legs. Anyone watching her notices how fragile she looks. She looks like a porcelain doll, like one of those tiny dancers you'd find in a music box. She soon comes to a stop, but very slowly. When her body lies down on the floor and she no longer moves, the curtains begin to close. She hears the sound of applause once more and imagines the audience standing from their chairs with smiles on their faces. She gets up from the floor and walks toward the curtains. She crouches down, with a smile on her face, and picks up the various roses that were thrown at her. She made it. Her dream. It came true.