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It’s Members Only

The show must go on, for together we belong.

By Alice K.S.Published 3 years ago 8 min read
3
A Ballet Scene - Painting by KarmSpi Art

They religiously practiced every day at the palace. The tall white walls of the studio climbed up as if they were to reach the sky. Really, the palace itself existed already, and love filled the room as the pointed toed ballerinas practiced the rituals, reaching beyond their limits with the world as their stage. From afar, they were recognized by some highlighted traits. Innately born with all the intrinsic features, they had the abilities to do magnificent things. They hone in their craft. And every night they dreamed about it, and every day, crystal clear, they tapped into the pursuit of their success.

The muse approaches divinity. She moves with burning passion, as fluidly as water, and as light as the wind. But when the earth is the ground, the dance floor shall be marble; a marble ocean where no ripples can be seen. It is a calm and silent body of water with shimmers of gold, drizzles of grey, dashes of white!

She had special awareness of both, her body and her surroundings. As she was fluttering about the stage that morning, she could tell that Mr. Boroff was stopping by at her house with his electric car. It’s like if at once, her body slightly inclined towards the glass surface, hands slightly pressed against it, fingerprints slightly printed in the slight moisture of her sensitivity, revealing that her heartbeat was increasing. And when the heart increases, if the tics of the clock slipped a beat, simultaneously, a cracking occurs in time. It’s like splitting the sky open. And, because she had left the little black book directly in the middle of her kitchen table that morning… she, she couldn’t help herself not thinking about it. And the vision of it was so clear, and the car so electric, and the situation so surreal, that she may have truly fluffed away through the window in that instant. Just like a precious flower which petals are plucked, one by one, just like a precious flower painted in the strikes of an old canvas.

Untitled Red Dot – Painting by Karmspi Art

There is a saying about it. Saying it’s a tale discussing mythologies, and the story mixes folklore with archeology. In fact, some say the floor of the studio was truly made out of a thin layer of glass, and that one day, a swan slipped and its peak striked sharp on the transparent brittle surface, breaking it onto millions of pieces. It shattered and down fell the water and downfall she went, and by the time she landed back on two feet, on the stage of a luxurious exterior theater-atrium, her blood had been mixed with the salt and the water, and yes, her dress was completely soaked by it, and perhaps, the veil hanging of her hair may also have hidden a little mouse. So, after all, she didn’t arrive down here alone at all! And, this all happened because the instant before, she, she couldn’t help herself not thinking about it. She was mystified that he would dare: “…to enter my house during my absence...”

Some say it slightly differently. Because some say they have a snapshot of it. Someone said “It ain’t glass at all! It was an ice floor!”

And it well seems like there is some kind of tantrum about it. Some hold for truth that it all comes from a Christmas Tale, and that a penguin was called upon, for he was lost, and he was the soul responsible for cracking the ice.

I have motif to believe there is a chance he has been the one. Because since when would the weight of a big penguin be supported by either a thin layer of either glass or ice, especially if a ballet studio were to be up in the sky, somewhere where swans would rehearse some sacred dance for some even more sacred performance? At this point I’m hesitating as if I should even call it a palace or a church?

My Church - Painting by KarmSpi Art

But maybe, since there is a chance also, that he, I’m referencing to Mr.Boroff here. So I have as only proof that he stopped at my place, and I know that as a fact since, as I was dancing on center stage, I also saw my friend looking, and she too saw the car. We talked about it and she told me. And when the night came we all dreamed about it and we became one; with the palace, the floor, the chandelier, and the light. And the light was so bright that, I can’t help myself believing I am part of it for real! Therefor I am.

I hope I am finding myself at a good time to be disturbing you right now, for I am a part of this club. Some say it’s a case or a trial! But really it’s a legend. And you can either ride with them or fly with us! To be part of it, you need to be. And the only way to become is to be a member. You’re either in or you’re out. And moreover, if you lose either the trial or the court case, you’ll be somewhere else… and NOT belonging, someone said.

And that someone said: “A suitcase!”

“Of cause!”

“A cause? Because of what!?”

“Obviously the suitcase contains all the details about the trial’s court case. And everyone knows so well that Mr. Boroff always keeps it on the front passenger seat.”

“But what is the case about?”

Well it seems like it’s about a cause, for it has a purpose! Yes. Just like an image! For an image conveys more than only feelings, it has a value of thought which in balance, are supported by words. And since words hold the meaning of this world, therefore the meaning of this world is somehow contained in the flower painted on that canvas.

And this whole metaphor also applies to the endeavor of the Ballerina. She’s a mute, pressed real deep. Her only means to convey a message is to unfold the story. So, she practices every day. And when practice time is completed for the day, she goes buzzy with all the other spheres of preparation. Identifying the various scenes, placing them in order and making sure all the pieces of the story are well aligned is, amongst many, many others, my favorite tasks.

The other day as I was playing in the meadow, from far up in the castle, I heard the ticking sound. At first I almost confused it with the sound of small wings, a type of insects do, when robbing them against each other. The ticking was running faster and slower and faster again, and again, so it couldn’t come from the great clock either. The sewing machines were on! The realization of it may have hypnotized me. Out, out of a sudden, I wasn’t directing upon my own two feet anymore, and to the sewing tower I went. I remember, by accident I got injured by the pointy tip of a silver needle stick. A single drop of blood surfaced my skin. Oh and it was also on that same day, that Elisa and I confected the veils for the wilis. The golden scissors, with its sharp cutting edge, formed a fine line, splitting in half the even finer lace.

“What is a wilis again, a wood-nymphs?”

“When, from deep in the forest, they will come, this sisterhood of spirited beings will lead the dance. Actually, my favorite variation in that scene is when the queen dances “I want you to stay alive.” And we giggled together, in a sweet lovely feminine laughter.

“Hold on there with your scissors!” exclaimed the judge. “Did Elisa want to know?”

His focus pinpointed over the word Intention, and he narrowed it down to knowing either if it happened by random chance, all the way to knowing if she just knew all of the gloved man’s habits instinctively. This was a big deal in the court case, electrifying. Because if she was following, she was spying! And knowing affects one’s power scheme. Therefor if she knew all of his habits, she would have the ability to change elements in the unfolding of circumstances to make resurgence of certain information which would, in the end, have a certain impact. In fact, Mr. Boroff has very unique habits, at which he just won’t falter. For example, he would be the type of character that would always hold his tea cup in this peculiar way.

According to the legend, some say the judge received his answer in the form of a danced story. Because for Elisa, collecting clues would be like fluttering among a field of flowers and, in the heat of that very special moment, the clock ticked to her heartbeat, and to remember precisely the importance of that unique instant, she would have picked precisely that flower.

Crystal Rose - KarmSpi Art

When I woke up this morning, I had the hardest of time getting out of my dream. The voice in the echo was loudly insisting: “If you could say it all in a single word, how would it come out?” And out loud I awoke: “Voila!”

As I opened my eyes, I was in the middle of center stage. I was wearing a shimmering tutu with a sparkly crown on my head. Some may have thought that I was a clown, while I heard whispers that I was a joker. So I didn’t speak a word. Since when do ballerinas talk anyways? It’s never heard of. So with my body and soul I started to dance. And to everyone whose body and soul resonated with mine, I reverenced. The show must go on, for together we belong. It’s the beginning! Find yourself a spot; make yourself at ease, for you are welcome, as a new member.

Short Story
3

About the Creator

Alice K.S.

I once believed I was a gifted ballerina.

She beseeched me for something to live for,

so I started painting it for her.

Welcome to my wordly world!

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