Short Stories and poems for the lonely soul

The Ballet

I remember the night like it was yesterday. I was there to see the only person who has been there for me since day one. I was here at the Russian Ballet tonight to see my Younger sister. As I heard the music start, I had a vivid flashback of our childhood. 

I was five, and she had just turned three. We were watching Beauty and the Beast, and while I was focused on how Belle looked the night of the ball, she was busy dancing her heart out. I always thought that she danced a little odd. Her twisting and twirling, she always stood on the balls of her feet as if reaching on her tip-toes for the golden-red cookie jar our mother hid in the kitchen. As this thought escaped my mind, I see her center-stage standing on her toes like she had when we were kids. 

The music started seeping into my soul and dragging my heart away with it. I became so immersed in the music, in her dancing, in the drama of it all that I failed to notice anything else. I never understood any feelings like this before; I was so lost that the tears sliding down my cheeks went unnoticed as my mascara smeared in long black streaks down my face. This was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen until everything shattered like glass being thrown from a building.

 I saw the arrow go straight through the main dancer's heart. Through my sister's heart. I saw the light leave her eyes as she collapsed into a lifeless pile on the floor. The feeling of fear and grief pulled at me like a weight sinking into my soul. All I could think about was saving her. About keeping her beside me as those tears of joy turned into tears of sorrow and despair. I tried to catch her. I tried to reach her. But I failed. The crowd was screaming and running. There was pushing and pulling mentally and physically as the scene carried on. 

I felt myself being dragged out by someone. All I could do was scream and fight with everything I have because I couldn't lose her. I was her protector for years, and I failed this time. To this day, I don't know who pulled me out of that theater. But, I do remember the sirens blaring and screaming as they raced to the scene. I remember fighting the police officer as I tried to claw my way back into the room. 

And finally, I remember seeing her lifeless body with an arrow through the heart being carried away by the paramedics. I wonder how many ribs they broke, trying to resuscitate her if they tried at all. All I could think at that moment while looking into her lifeless body with her eyes still open, staring at me with no light, no laughter, no life was the saddest question I never thought I would have to ask. How am I going to tell my parents that their daughter is gone at sixteen?