The Dancer

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: 'The Odd Ones'
Returning to the roots of the problem can be inspiring.

Submitted: June 13, 2016

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Submitted: June 13, 2016



It was on a soft summer day that she had her audition. She always wanted to dance for an audience. She'd weave stories in her mind ever since she was a small child about how she would do some awe-inspiring dance for someone that would some day do the same for someone else, just like when she was a child and witnessed the grace of the women on stage.

"I shall stop the wars with my dancing alone," she'd exclaim to me with a smile. That was a story she had woven a million times, and mastered the pronuciation of every syllable of every letter. She once wrote a story about it which made me laugh at how difficult it was for her to write in cursive. I always enjoyed her company. Even though she enjoyed mine, she still left for her own self. She never forgot me though, and wrote every chance she did when they were done performing.

Over the years she got better. She could dance with her eyes closed, and her cursive, though still a little hard to read, was as amazing as she was herself. She enjoyed the little things in life as well. The brisk breeze that would greet her outside when she was done with practice, the smile of her family that went to see her at a performance, but nothing beat the feeling, that rush she got from performing something on stage she had been practicing for weeks and sometimes months on end in that never ending job she use to do for a hobby.

Then one day, it came crashing down around her. Her family was slowly picked off by the disease that ran through her family and she knew it was only time before she contracted it. She did in the end, sadly. Eventually, depression had found its way to her, her beautiful brown hair that once gave life to her gorgeous brown eyes had turned gray, and her bones were growing old and brittle to the point to where she couldn't stand. But, all was not lost for her.

In the end, she danced and mastered the art of both dancing and cursive to the point to where I would just laugh and cry at how it reminded me of her dancing in front of me oh so many years ago. Even though she couldn't preform any more, she taught many young girls how to dance themselves and even had classes full of young girls and women who themselves were inspired by her dancing and wished to continue her legacy of inspiration. Every class she taught, regardless of her disability, went into dancing as a full profession and gave her all the credit for being a role model, and practically a mother to them when they needed it. Then, one soft summer day much like the one she auditioned on, she passed away with a calm heart and a smile on her face. Her funeral was full of not just people who knew her or were inspired by her, but it was filled with love and wishes for her. And now, still alone with only things to remember her wonderful presence by, I cry tears of joy with a wide smile as I know she is in heaven right now, dancing for everyone and herself for all eternity with joy; and love.

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