serendipity » m.c

one

Greta fell to the floor in a crumpled mess. The muscles in her back screamed to be massaged, burning from the long, grueling hours of work she had done. She rolled her shoulders, watching two of her fellow dancers make their way out of the studio. Greta didn't mind that she was always one of the last to leave; she liked to take her time.

She undid her pointe shoes, unraveling the ribbons from around her ankles, revealing all the new blisters she had earned from the day's dancing despite how much she taped her toes. Only one of her new blisters had broken open and bled a little, Greta taking care of it easily with a Band-Aid.

She took the extra time she had to massage the aches out of her feet, letting her mind wander over the practice she had just completed. It wasn't the best one she ever had, that much Greta knew. She had fallen during one of her jumps, banging her knee when she collided with the floor.

The snickers of her teammates replayed in her mind, hushed whispers that she could hear from over her shoulder. She had made the particular jump time and time before when they practices their leaps in class, but this time just seemed to be different.

Greta was pushing herself when she heard she had been considered for the lead roll of the next upcoming show. It had been the first time her name was ever said when the lead roll was being discussed. She had psyched herself out, and now she was sure that her chances were slim to none.

She should have danced like she usually did, with grace and beauty – that's why she was being considered in the first place. But this is what her company wanted, to weed out the weak and see who would crack under the pressure. Greta had split right down the middle, ripping at the seams.

She sighed, trying to push away the tears that threatened to spill over. She outstretched her legs, grabbing the back of her knees as she stretched her back out. "You okay, Greta?" She heard as she sat up.

One of her fellow dancers was standing by the exit, bag slung over her shoulder as she stared at Greta.

She nodded, grabbing her own shoes to stuff into her bag. "Yeah, just finishing up," she said with a small smile. Her teammate nodded and turned away, pushing the door open and stepping outside.

Greta finished collecting her things, heading back towards the dressing room. She stripped out of her tights and leotard in exchange for leggings and an old tee shirt. She slipped on her jacket before packing away her clothes and shoes into her bag.

Greta hated that she had to walk home, but she didn't live too far. She just despised the fact that her feet already hurt from dancing all day and then had to walk all the way back to her apartment. Both her and her parents didn't see the need for her to have a car while living in New York, but now that she was living there, she started to hate having to walk everywhere.

She clicked the lights off in the dressing room and headed out of the studio. The owners would lock up later after they were sure everyone had gone home. The chilly air met her skin with an icy embrace, bringing a rosy tint to the end of her nose and the apples of her cheeks.

The late November days had started to get colder; the leaves that still clung to the trees were bright crimson and deep yellows and oranges. Greta knew it was soon to snow, burying the small New York town in a flurry of white. She didn't particularly love the snow, but she didn't dislike it either.

Greta rounded the corner, biting down on her lip. Her feet were hurting more than she expected. And the pain was all she could focus on since today was the day that she just so happened to forget her headphones. She looked both ways before she crossed the street, bounding across the asphalt as a taxi sped by.