Precipice

Opens with a petite small young woman. She appears to be a dancer, a ballerina more specifically. She spins on her toes and gracefully lifts her left leg to tap the stars. As she does this, there is music that can be heard. It touches any who is near, in their hearts a fierce grip tightens their chests, as the melancholy violin and piano play a very sad tune indeed. Our ballerina spins and lifts her arms above her head and the camera moves to show her movement as she does this to show the viewers only the tight bun of hair and her arms are highlighted in the gloomy white light from outside. The view keeps coming closer to her arms, until it flashes to show a man in his late thirties, absolutely heartbroken. He stares, as if waiting for someone. The horribly sad and depressing music continues.

The brown bearded man continues to stare after the overcast pines as they sway to a tune only they can hear. His shoulders slump forward and it can be seen from the way they shake that he is weeping. The camera pulls backward to show an arched patio, with white and cream colored chairs and sweeping pillars. One of which our deeply grieving gentleman is leaned upon as if without it he would scarcely stand. Some of his great bellowing weeping can now be heard and light rumbling thunder cascades towards the audience. The camera slowly rotates to face the man frontside. His expression slowly changes from broken despair to one of rage. An anger takes over his once lovely face and he furiously wipes his tears from his face with an arm.

A lovely estate can be seen as the camera continues its path backward. Sweeping creme arches and floor to ceiling windows. An angry and hurt bellow echoes the empty estate. Our viewers are flashed back to our dancer, as she continues her routine. Madam Elise weeps in a silent grateful manner, as her star pupil prances around in excellent form. The door to the studio silently and seemingly with a quiet doom glides open. The tempo in our sad song picks up and the ballerina’s legs show the slightest quiver as she strives to keep pace, as her body attempts to remind her she is human and no one can defy gravity.

Another elderly woman of no significant importance except for this leading moment, in which her whole life pivots to encompass. A woman of her late fifties glides through the room. She once a long time, many many years ago danced herself and the spotlight had since left her barren. She weaves between the many admiring students, all watching the star perform the impossible. The lights harden to a gilded gold, as the camera pulls back to highlight, not the dancer this time, but the two women, standing side by side. Our messenger leans to her left to whisper a wretched message to the headmistress, and promptly scurries off as quickly as she had come. The madam's face never falters at the news she had just received, instead she watches as silent as ever, the dancer before her. Her wrinkled face pulls into a saddened, somewhat less stern expression than it had been the last fifty years of her hard life.

The tempo abruptly stops and our dancer as well, seemingly suspended over a precipice. The whole aura has the same effect only.. Do we all fall or.. fly? As a dancer, the answer is simple.