Her eyes are filled with such fiery passion as she weaves her way across the stage. The audience holds their breath as she makes the final leap and lands gracefully in the centre. She is exhausted but keeps her breathing steady as to maintain her composure. Her fellow dancers slide onto the stage beside her and they all bow to the audience. There is a thunder of applause as people stand from their seats. The red velvet curtains close leaving them in darkness. She makes her way backstage to the changing rooms and gathers her things before she congratulates the others and catches a ride home. As soon as the front door closes she collapses to the floor, silent tears fall to her cheeks. She thinks she is a failure, that she isn't good enough. She lets the fear, the worry, the doubt slip from her eyes in waves. She doesn't sleep that night, she lays in bed eyes staring at the ceiling. Her mind races pinpointing every wrong move, her leg was too far forward, her arm too high. When the sun rises the next day so does a small voice in the back of her mind. It tells her she is perfect and beautiful and she danced wonderfully. When she looks at the bed beside her the voice is no longer in her head, it is a man. Sitting on the edge of her bed is her father. Her father who cares, her father who loves her, her father who is proud.
YOU ARE READING
Little stories
Short StoryA bunch of short stories I have written, as well as the start of stories I likely won't finish. If you would like me to continue a story feel free to ave a comment. I have moved these stories from a different account
