Ballet isn't a sport. Ballet is an art, and in art, you strive for perfection or nothing.
Meet Lucy Heartfilia, a world famous ballerina at the age of 17, daughter of a ballet legend, and of course, a perfectionist. When she lands a role in Juilliar...
"Hello father." I set my dance bag down by the front door and looked at father reading the newspaper.
He grunted in response, and said, "Lucy, can you get me a glass of water? I don't feel well, thank you dear." I went to the kitchen and took a glass from the cabinet. I was filling the cup and a loud thump sound came from the living room. The airway from my mouth to my lungs suddenly tightened, like a hand was choking me to death. Dropping the glass of water halfway filled, leaving the sink running slightly, I teared into the room, nearly tripping over a rug and found father crumpled up on the floor, still clutching the newspaper in his limp hand.
| Chapter 7 |
Lucy sat on the bench in the hallway of the hospital, her head in her hands. Her stomach tightened at the thought of it and the sympathetic looks of nurses and doctors passing by made her want to slap them. How dare they?
"Oh my gosh! Did you hear? Mr. Jude Heartfilia, the most talented ballet dancer's been detected with spine cancer!" a nurse whispered loudly. It's none of your business.
"Seriously? Are you sure? How?" Why do you care?
"Yeah, after years of overworking his spine!" How do you know?
"What about his daughter?" Don't even start.
"I don't know, she's such a good ballerina, but...I don't know, how's she gonna go on without her dad?" Don't listen to them don't listen to them I'm going to go on—
"Do you think she'll quit? I think so." I WON'T QUIT! NEVER.
Calm down. People passing by were looking at her because she was breathing so heavily. She inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. They always found a way to infiltrate her thoughts and become the center of her mind, their gravitational pull undeniably strong. And she could do nothing to stop it. They were slowly crushing her, breaking her into pieces. Never show your flaws. She snorted and clenched her fists. Who cared at this point? To everyone, she was just a frail and weak girl, a newborn and naked baby exposed to the cruel and ruthless world. She was nothing.
"Ms. Heartfilia? Would you like to see your father?" The nurse held a clipboard, staring at her with soft, doe-like eyes. Lucy nodded and followed her, her feet quietly stomping against the floor. Again with the sympathy? Please. Sympathy was out of the question, she has other things to think about. Like ballet and father.
"He's in there," the nurse whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. "Just remember to stay quiet, please." She opened the door and a sickly sight appeared before Lucy. Her stomach clenched and threatened to hurl, but she shook her head and held up her chin. The wall was painted a light yellow-green, the color of puke. Tubes and medical bags hung above, weaving in and out of each other like spider webs. Monitors crowded the bed, their monotone beeping sound going on and on forever. Posters with encouraging sentences plastered on the walls and next to the bed was a stack of presents and flowers from people—strangers—who didn't even know what was actually happening. This is not the time to get angry, she warned herself.
"Hello father," she whispered. She gripped the bed railing tightly. An oxygen mask covered his face and she took in the needles and tubes lined against his arm. What if he never wakes? How will father dance again? What's going to happen to me? She couldn't lose another family member, not when her mom left years ago when she was young. And now her father was being taken away because of spine cancer?
A low groan came from the bed. He slowly opened his eyes. "Lucy..." he whispered, his voice hoarse. Tears pooled in her eyes. He was awake and alive, that was what mattered most. "I'm sorry, child."
"What are you sorry for?" she asked, heatedly. "You didn't do anything!"
"I didn't...I didn't tell you about this."
The words didn't register in her mind. "What?"
He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I've known for months, ever since my last doctor's appointment," he said, weakly.
"And you didn't tell me?" she asked, her voice growing louder. "How could you?"
"An old man's fault." He slowly reached for her hand, his slightly wrinkled but strong fingers wrapping around hers. "Forgive me, please."
She looked away. "OK." Silence fell over them like an uncomfortable blanket.
"Promise me something," he said, suddenly. She nodded. "Promise that you'll be the same, that you'll never forget what I've taught you in ballet. Power, technique, grace—never forget that."
"I promise," she said, firmly. Duty and honor settled in her chest. Everything was at stake now, with father unable to dance, but it would be alright. She was going make things better. She was going to uphold their family name. She was going to try even harder and be the best ballerina there ever was. After all, it was all up to her now.
What do you think of this chapter? A little less boring? How would you feel if you were in Lucy's position? What do you think will happen next? Good times or bad times? Also, who agrees that those nurses were super snobby? XD
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