Let us read and let us dance; these amusements will cause no harm to the world. ~Voltaire
*****
The blaring sound of a frustrated driver blowing their horn infinity times startled me awake from my sleep.
As the shock rushed through me, I knocked a couple things over from on top of my desk, where I have fallen asleep yet once again. Trying the soothe the aches in my stiff neck, I noticed a shiny liquid on my keyboard.
With a rage of disgust, I wiped the drool off my keyboard with the sleeve of m shirt. Last night I was jotting down some ideas for my new book. It is based on the world famous choice of dance. Ballet.
I chose to write about Ballet because I was absolutely intrigued the art when I went to my first concert recital last month. My best friend's wife, Amanda, had a few extra tickets so I went along with them. I figured there may be some sort of interesting background to this type of dance.
I've decided to enter the world of a Ballerina.
I looked upon the computer screen and realized that due to me using the keyboard as a pillow, I've discovered the language of gibberish. Erasing the f's and g's, I saved the drafts on the Microsoft software I was currently using and shut down the computer.
Checking the time on my watch I saw that it was only 6: 24 am. Maybe my bed's pillow would do me some good for another hour and a half. I thought as I walked upstairs.
****
I sighed in overdosed frustration. There was absolutely no trace of this girl. No hint or clues or anything.
What I am doing or attempting to do was look for someone. A ballerina.
I searched through the ballet studio's website top to bottom, column through column, forum through forum 14 times. And there wasn't even a glimpse of the people that even go to the dance school. Nothing. It was completely confidential. The most I have seen was a group picture of the co-founders. Other than that, nothing. All the rest was the curriculum schedule and arrangements and recital times and dates and other accommodations.
Getting up from the computer a thought occurred to me. Why not just go to the actual dance studio yourself and find her yourself? said the voice in my head.
I sped up the stairs, through on some worn out jeans a black button up shirt and some shoes.
I grabbed my fall jacket and a couple of papers I needed, my phone and sped out the door.
****
"May I help you?" said an elderly voice from my right side as I entered the grand hall of the studio. When I had came here a month ago, we had only went in the preformance auditorium part of the hall. Now i was currently in the studio section. Teachers, students passed through here one by one all wearing their sutible attire. This was a well run school.
"Um..." I cleared my throat. "Yes you can. I'm looking for Fallon Park." I said to the woman. She looked quite friendly and not as disturbing and obnoxious I expected her to be.
"Do you know her?" she asked.
Not knowing how to respond, I spoke without thinking.
"You could say that." I said. "I would just like to speak with her for a moment."
She smiled.
"I'm so sorry but she just left for the day."
As I heard this I realized it. Of course. She works here.
"Oh, just missed her. Do you by any chance know where she lives perhap-"
"Mr.?" she said cutting me off.
YOU ARE READING
Admiration
RomanceSeeing her dance was like a journey to heaven. Her smile was like a sun in the rain. Her laugh was a beautiful echoed sound that flowed perfectly and was highly contagious. Her body was the splitting image of an Egyption godness. In his eyes she was...
