Black Swan

No. 1 Scène: Allegro Giusto

I pace the hallway, breathing frantically. It's been almost three hours now, and they still haven't called my name. People line the corridors, some nervously, some with a sense of dread. I bite my thumb between my teeth, stepping up on my toes, stretching out my legs against the wall, until I'm doing the splits. My milky skin is covered with light stockings, a white leotard, and pointed ballet flats. I gelled my hair to the side today, and put on a little black eyeliner. I know this is important; they won't just be looking at technique. You need to look the part, too. How else are you supposed to get the lead? I've heard some people sleep with the manager if they want something badly enough.

Swan Lake.

It's been years since a large production like this has hit New York, especially a production so highly esteemed. I bite my thumb between my teeth, exhaling sharply. There's a shuffle at the end of the corridor, and the door to the studio at the end opens with a screech. An usher steps out with a clipboard, his eyes framed with thick glasses scanning his surroundings.

"Luhan?"

I nod, dropping to my knees. I breathe heavily, letting out a sigh as I begin the walk down the hallway, watching as people attempt to find enough interest in me to lift their eyes from the linoleum floor. It feels like eternity, but finally I make it to the end. The door squeaks closed behind me, and I am greeted with a room lined with mirrors, wooden floorboards, and a desk. There is only one director, and he sits before me, a wad of paperwork sitting in a state of disaccord before him. He eyes me, and I can feel the waves of disinterest radiating from his every pore. He looks bored, and tired. I can see dark rings under his eyes and I know he has been sitting right there for almost a full day with no breaks.

"Luhan, for the position of principal dancer?" he drawls.

I nod, taking my position in the centre of the room. I glance up at the mirror, giving myself a final look over. I shut my eyes, tight. I breathe in, breathe out, waiting for the music to fill my ears. Getting into my starting position, I open my eyes once more. The music starts, and I begin, holding my breath. Avant, arabesque, a jeté to the left, pas de basque; a travelling step from fifth position to plié, my arms outstretched. I glissade to the right, making sure my slide is smooth and continuous. Not disjointed. I arch my back, pirouette, and spring up onto my toes into relevé. I fall to the floor, a terre, extending my left out in front of my head, my left leg tucked under my right. I can finally breathe again, as the music comes to an end.

He clears his throat, as I lift myself from the floor. I know I have executed every move flawlessly. My technique was perfect. After all, I am a perfectionist. But, I know that there is now nothing more I can do. I can hear the pen scribbling on paper and I glance at the table. He pays me no mind, and I stand still, in agonizing silence. My eyes wander, finally finding the nameplate at the front of his desk. Oh Sehun. I should have sucked up to him more at the beginning, I realise. I should have told him how esteemed a director he is, and how much of a fan of his I was. I should have played on his narcissism and shown more of my skin. I begin to panic. I wait, nausea creeping into my system, until finally, Sehun clears his throat once more.

"Luhan, was it?" he asks. I nod, meekly.

"Your technique is nothing short of perfection. You have a great point in your toes and you arch well. You would be the ideal candidate for the White Swan, however..." he pauses, and I try and relax myself, shaking out my arms and stretching my fingers as I turn my back to him. I knew there was no way I would make it. Someone like me, on New York stage? I'm just as common as everyone else in the hallway.

"Luhan, you simply lack passion - charisma. You cannot be the Black Swan, you just don't fit the part. You're not emulating all of the characteristics of the Black Swan. You don't have the rage, the anger, the fury, the passion! You need to get into the head of the Black Swan. It's enough to be innocent and fragile as you are for the White Swan, but how can you be dark - foreboding, even?"