Swan's Fire

1. Next Time...Overdose

In the dimly lit studio, the atmosphere feels heavy, charged with a sense of anticipation mixed with a touch of resignation. It's another day in the relentless world of ballet, and I, Haerin, am ready to confront the physical trials that lie ahead. The harsh, unforgiving light cuts through the space, casting long, looming shadows on the polished hardwood floor.

A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I take my place amidst the other ballerinas, all of us preparing to embark on the painful journey of physical therapy. The cacophony of joints cracking punctuates the air, a sound that, by now, has become all too familiar. We've all felt it in our own bodies, the relentless wear and tear that accompanies our pursuit of perfection.

My gaze is drawn toward Jiyeon, an embodiment of unwavering diligence and hard work. She stands as a testament to the sacrifices we're all willing to make for the sake of our art. There's a certain coldness to my observation, a detachment that's grown over the years. Jiyeon's grimaces of pain and the visible strain on her face are met with a mere acknowledgment. Her feet, wrapped in delicate yet battered slippers, tell a tale of countless battles fought on stage.

As I watch Jiyeon tend to her feet, a small, irreverent smirk tugs at the corners of my lips. The black, broken, and bleeding toenails are a testament to the price we willingly pay for our art. It's as if ballet demands a level of self-inflicted torment and mutilation, and I've long accepted this reality.

The overall effect is a stark revelation, portraying ballet not as the romanticized art form the world sees but as something far more grueling. It's a world where beauty is inseparable from pain, and the line between dedication and self-destruction blurs. I don't feel empathy; I feel a bitter sense of satisfaction. We are the chosen few who willingly walk this painful path, and it sets us apart.

Jiyeon's unyielding pursuit of perfection doesn't tug at my heartstrings. Instead, it reinforces the cold, unfeeling shell I've built over the years. Her hard work and dedication are admirable, but as I look on, it becomes increasingly evident that even the most diligent among us cannot escape the inevitable breakdown of the human body.

With a sense of detached indifference, I turn away from the scene, the revelation that each step I take is a testament to my unwavering commitment to this art. I walk back to the barre, the weight of this revelation a mere whisper in the background of my thoughts, as I continue to navigate the unforgiving world of ballet with a hardened resolve.

Visiting Danielle in the hospital was not something I had initially planned, but as I heard the whispers circulating, it became apparent that it was the expected thing to do. After all, everyone else was paying their respects, and I couldn't afford to come across as indifferent. So, I reluctantly made my way to the hospital.

I entered the hospital room where Danielle lay, and the scene that unfolded was a stark contrast to the graceful world of ballet. The room was stark, sterile, and eerily quiet, with only the soft hum of machines breaking the silence. White walls surrounded us, their starkness accentuating the severity of the situation.

As I approached her bedside, I held a single red rose in my hand, an obligatory offering in this somber setting. "Haerin," Danielle's weak smile greeted me as I placed my rose next to the others on her bedside table. The room felt empty, save for the two of us.

I cleared my throat, struggling to feign empathy as I asked, "How are you doing?" Her response was non-verbal; Danielle merely glanced down at her lap. The unspoken invitation prompted me to uncover the baby blue blanket that concealed her legs. What I saw beneath left me staring blankly, my thoughts churning with a mixture of emotions.

Danielle's legs, once the epitome of grace and strength, were now marred by stitched gashes, bruised and swollen, and held in place by unsightly braces. The contrast between the ballet world's beauty and the reality before me was staggering, and a wave of disgust threatened to wash over me. In all honesty, I couldn't help but think that Danielle's actions were a foolish and desperate move.

Swiftly, I covered her legs again, suppressing my true feelings. "I hope for a smooth recovery," I said, mustering the politeness required for the situation. Danielle looked up at me, her eyes curious, and she questioned my lack of empathy. My initial shock was replaced with a more genuine response.

I shook my head, deciding against lying. "No need to lie," I confessed. "It's tiring." Danielle nodded in understanding. "It's fine," she said with a soft smile, "not everybody can empathize. I mean, it was a bit of a dumb move, wasn't it?"

I agreed with a nod. "How's everyone doing without me?" Danielle inquired, attempting to shift the focus away from her own ordeal. I replied truthfully, "Fine. Jiyeon ruined her ankles, and Grace seems perfectly fine without you."

An unexpected frown crossed Danielle's face as she muttered, "Backstabbing bitch." The statement caught me off guard, and I inhaled sharply.

"I have somewhere to be," I lied, creating a plausible excuse to escape the uncomfortable conversation. I turned to leave, but Danielle's curiosity persisted. "That's it? Come on, there must be more happening," she pressed.

I turned back to face her, maintaining a facade of indifference. "There really isn't," I stated flatly. She wouldn't play the victim card with me.

As I headed for the door, Danielle probed further, asking about my own life. "What about you? Got anything interesting going on? A boyfriend?" Her questions made my jaw clench. "Must you know what's going on in everyone's lives?" I retorted, my frustration evident.

Danielle seemed taken aback by my response, and her expression shifted. "Fine, go, leave like everyone else," she muttered. It was as if she expected me to be like the others, showering her with empty platitudes.

Without hesitation, I turned away, ready to exit the room. Just before closing the door, I couldn't resist one last statement. "If you actually want to end it, overdose; don't throw yourself in front of a car speeding 60 in a 10," I advised with a cold and unapologetic tone. Then, I left the room, closing the door behind me, my emotions concealed beneath a veneer of detached indifference.