One Shots

Tribute

So I went to a Lindsey Stirling concert today and something she said kind of inspired this. Listen to the song while you read.

💔

She smiled on. Her teeth a bright white and her skin like porcelain as she twirled. Her rose-pink tutu and white tights were pressed to perfection. Her auburn hair in a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She was in perfect poise. Back straight, toes on-point, and head up.

The music played on repeat and she twirled with it. A never ending cycle. Perform, a stiff curtsy, and repeat. Everyday, all day. Round, and round, and round she goes.

One day, she saw herself in a mirror. Her dark grey eyes looked happy but if you looked deeper, they were hollow. Her smile seemed to be brightening, when in reality, it was dimming.

The ballerina looked away from the mirror and at all the people surrounding her. They were all happy. Honestly happy, not like her masquerade. They were all happy because of her, what she was becoming. A doll.

Behind the crowd of grins, there was a girl. A dark hoodie and dark jeans. She was playing a song, a fast moving piece on an instrument. Her hood covered all of her face, except for her smile. A truly happy smile caused by herself and what she was doing. No one surrounded the girl but she didn't seem to care.

I want to be that girl. I want to dance like that. The ballerina thought from her pedestal.

So she tried. She tried so hard. Then that mirror came back. What the ballerina saw terrified her.

Cracks. All across her skin. She could feel them when she raised her hands to her face.

I have to stop. She thought. But do I really want to?

She looked at herself. Her eyes and her smile that seemed so empty. She couldn't feel anything but unhappiness and despair as she twirled on her pedestal.

What happens if I don't stop? Will there be anything left?

The mirror didn't change. She grew to hate herself. The cracks that threatened her. Her perfect poise and grace.

The girl stood next to the ballerina, her grin taunting.

"How," the ballerina asked, "How do you do it?"

The girl just smiled and said one word.

"Shatter."

Then she was gone.

The ballerina looked around once more. She had never felt such fear and hopelessness.

Can I do it? she thought, staring at the mirror. She remembered the girl and her dancing.

Yes.

The ballerina broke free. She shattered herself.

She ran from her pedestal, porcelain falling from her. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt herself fall apart . . . and cone back together.

Her tutu was gone, replaced by a hoodie. Her tights by jeans. Her hands gripped something and she stopped to open her eyes.

In her hands, the former ballerina held a violin and a bow. She smiled, a genuinely happy smile, and began to play.

People slowly began to surround her, their smiles not only because of her, but for her.

Beyond the crowd, another ballerina looked on. I want to be her.

❤️