The Pretty Poison

.PART 1 - Symbolic Dance: Taken From Escape

.PART 1 - Symbolic Dance: Taken From Escape

Raise the curtain. Reveal white beams pouring down and casting eerie shadows on four faces. A light smoke hangs in the air, curling around the frozen dancers as they wait for their music to start.

A couple in their early forties remains on the far right. The woman, who clutches her husband’s hand, is lying on the floor. Her head is raised off the ground to stare back at her spouse whose face is an expression of uncertainty. Not quite anger but closer than the doubt of sorrow, his face stares intently at the ground. Muscles and veins are seen taunt under his skin from the closed fist and clenched jaw.

To the back corner of stage left, a man of his late twenties stands in a pose of handsome power. His face is cast towards the light, letting the shadows give his shirtless frame a physique of strength. Tattoos curl around his torso from his back and peek from the edges of his white denim pants. He is too proud to care about his V-lines revealing too much and too attractive for anyone to protest.

Not yet a woman but no longer a child, a girl of age 14 stands downstage center. Her light brown hair is tied back into a playful ponytail, making her appear even younger. A cheerful smile is spread upon her lips as well as a child’s happiness in her stance. Both hands are positioned on her hips; left leg upstage. Her body faces her parents while her dark brown eyes look out to the audience just above her shoulder.

Silence.

Once the curtain is fully raised, the composition begins.

Somewhere in the dark of the orchestra pit, a bow is pulled slowly but forcefully across a cello. Its intense tone resonates in the empty seats. Another two notes, deeper than the first. The slow fading in of blue from offstage replaces the washed out white on the dancers. Haunted shadows are replaced with a sapphire haze. Mystery and elegance at its finest.

With the entrance of the violin, the parents begin their story and pay no attention to their frozen daughter or the stranger. The woman on the floor sits forward; her back arching into the roll of the movement. Her husband grasps her hand tightly, almost pulling her to her feet. But at last second, he relaxes his arm making her drop back in pain. There is a craving anger that flashes behind his eyes. The fury bids him to stoop down and take hold of her neck. She rises to her knees, clinging to his arms and gasping for breath. As he rises, she jumps desperately with his hands. The man throws her to turn her away from him, only to hold her lovingly in his embrace. She reaches for his hands crossed around her body and sighs in with pleasure. They still their tormented dancing.

Violin bows are pulled across their instruments. The wavering beauty animates the young girl. The foot placed behind her glides to the front, dragging on the black staging. Pointed toes and smiles. Her life is happy, therefore so is her dance. Thin arms reach out while the girl’s legs raise and kick to the side. It is a slow but joyous dance. Pirouette, pirouette, fouette, fouette, pirouette. She steadies herself and begins to sashay back and forth on the stage with her arms spread as wide as the smile upon her lips.

To the right of her, the couple begins again. A dance of rage and lust, passion and abuse. Love radiates from both but only forgiveness comes from Mother. Her eyes closed in fear and desire. Daughter sees nothing and for that, the mother is grateful.

The music swells with intensity. Husband throws Mother who crashes unwillingly into their daughter. The two fall to the ground and for the first time, the girl sees how her father truly is. He is violent, he is cold. His hand swings before the turn of her face. Mother does nothing to stop it. The daughter runs from him and crumples on the other side of the stage, hand covering the shame in her features.

Lights dim on the frightened mother and sorrowful father. It is time for the younger man to take his role. His shoulders are pulled back with the start of his routine.

He hurries to the girl on the floor and holds her with a face cast in smirking self-assurance. She cringes at his touch but in all her sorrow, she trusts the stranger. Her hand reaches out for his and he helps her to her feet, curving her back as she stands. They begin to dance as opposing genders freely do.

He is too old for her; she knows this and he is fully aware. But the way his smile calms her fear and how her youth stirs him makes them consider the alternate love. It is light and beautiful. Sweet turns and intimate poses. But the moment comes where she must go. The girl leaves but their hands linger together before parting ways.

Daughter returns to her parents in joy but Father is still consumed in anger. She tries to embrace the father she knew. A graceful curtsey is performed before she wraps her arms loosely around his chest. She wants to forgive but his hand grabs her hair and throws her away. Pity emanates from her mother but again, nothing is done.

The girl runs to the stranger awaiting her return and springs into his outstretched arms. He spins her in passion, lifts her in gentleness. Her ponytail is undone for her to appear older and more mature. He likes her to appear older. A grab of the waist sends shivers in her heart but when his hands roam too far, she recoils. He presses further but she will not submit. A hurt expression is matched with a confused one. The girl is done with him. Her leaving brings forth an unexpected anger to the stranger but her turned back sees nothing of his rage.

Stage left, Daughter takes Mother aside. The younger girl strokes the arm of her mother, pulling her hand and begging to run from Father. The woman refuses and in her turn of anger, she strikes the girl. Red blotches begin to spot the pale cheek but there is no regret.

Staggered steps travel upstage. At the center, the girl reaches her point of breaking. She drops to her knees, crawling in pain. Sobbing expressions fight on her body for the control she is losing. Standing back up, her toes lift her off the floor. Arms reach back but fall gently. There is no love left in her life.

Movement from the left catches her eyes, making her gaze lock onto the stranger’s. He pleads for her to come back and a nod signals her acceptance.

A look to her parents, a last goodbye. She run and leaps into his extended arms. Her body towers over him in height, leaning back and holding to him for balance. Pain and sorrow mixed with longing and a bitter pleasure is etched upon her face. The man grips her tightly for her feet no longer touch the floor. With a swing of her legs, she is held bridal style. Her parents are long forgotten as she exits, held by her elder lover with no glances back.

After the daughter told her story, the elder couple continues with theirs.

The remaining woman leans to her kneeling husband. Her leg rises behind her, looming over the two of them. Regret keeps him on his knees where he should stay. His wife steps gently around him, caressing his arms with hers. Their bond diminishes as the husband finds light. He will change; his embrace of gentled affection promises that. But the woman will not let herself fooled. They may be tied together by their daughter but they are no longer lovers.

Finally, the couple looks for the girl they have fought for. The empty stage whispers no forgiveness to the cruelties. She is nowhere to be found. In the midst of their growth, they lost the person they were changing for.

The parents grieve and the husband repents but the daughter ran.

The music slows and fades into the air, leaving the dance of confusion to die out. Sorrow and love, lust and violence; all hinting there are more to their lives than once believed. Those many stories which make the watcher’s eyes dance along are not finished and the performers await their next dance backstage.

The theatre’s lights shut down and the burgundy curtain falls. Clunks of the spotlights turning off echo in the massive room. One last light remains, dimming with the peace of the dancers. The imaginary audience approves with their silent applauding.

Blackout.