Wednesday, April 4, 2012

PicTale: Different Pair of Slippers

She was every much herself. She was the dancer who would instead of walking down the street, danced on the tips of her toes through the waterlogged gutters through town. And it was the difference that made the other's attack her. She had always been a little shy, never the center of attention, and they fed on that. She left the studio shortly after, defeated with her beautiful eyes puffy from the crying. But her spirit was not broken. She was determined to make her mark in the only way she knew how: Dance.

She cut her hair as any strong woman does when she dedicates her life to something. She went short, and now she could not hide from the eyes threatening to extinguish the flame of her soul. No. Now she was forced to look them right back in the eye and show them her determination to succeed. The shyness never left though, but its what made her a true performer. One cannot be great without a obstacle to surpass, and every day she danced through life she kept her eyes low, but her head high. She will make it.

She was the white rose among the red. She was less beautiful to the eye in the whole because she did not fit the picture, but alone she shined through anything, never getting soiled from anything else. Her purity gained her momentum and soon she was accepted into the school of her dreams, full ride. Only one of her former haters had come as far as she did, and they became great peers and friends. She was no longer out casted.

She continued in her conquest, showing angles of her motions that no one had ever noticed before. Soon a flick of a hand would wow the clusters of directors who begged her to go on. She left her school early to pursue her dream. She had surpassed all that had held her back. She is a star.

But she never lost herself. Through the constant clicks of the cameras, she was still herself: the white rose among the reds. Even as the reds groups and plunged their thorns towards her, none of the scratches stayed. She healed through all the hurt, the pure white individual of the society. She was a star, a legend, a hero.

Even as she grew old, retired, slowed down, the loss of mobility didn't mean a lost of passion. She had learned to support herself with nothing, with one tiny strand of her being, and made it through the impossible. Instead of breaking and scattering the pieces trying to cut those who broke her, she picked them up and thanked them for the change and the opportunity to reassemble them to create something beautiful out of it. She created something that even through many drops and kicks and scattering moments, was impermeable to anything anyone did to her. And that will never die.

PS: Click on the pics to see the website. All things from pinterest seem to be about ballerinas, gardens, and weddings... next time i'll do one from DeviantART ;] then it'll be all nerdy and stuff ;]

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