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 ;]

Schönes Bloonbirne

a story made with pictures

By Tommi Boshart

I remember where I first saw her. We were at a party thrown by a friend. It was outdoors, in the backyard of the clubhouse down the street. Everything was natural: cobblestone paths and candles in glass wrapped in lilac stems. But the one thing I remember is the upcycled light bulbs, schönes bloonbirne, turned into hanging flower holders. Something about the trees laden with these vases was sketched into my mind so deep. Well, besides first seeing her.
She came, into this rustic scene, wearing a lace dress with long sleeves and a puffed skirt, but the thing that made her stick out was the color. Cherry red. She made a scene among the waves of tan, denim, and brown pigments of everyone else, and that’s when I knew I’d get along with her. That’s when I met my best friend. The show at the party wasn’t the only thing. We went to Paris once and she stormed through the city with high heels and a tan party dress high in the front, low in the back. The corset top and ruffles on the skirt were different, even in the city of style. She was the light, although foreign, that outshined all those around her.

Before I thought she was the most perfect person in the world. Even when she was single and looking, she showed strength. She said, “I won’t marry until I feel love. Not just attraction, sexually, or because of desperation. I want the feeling people write novels about.” I wished the same thing. My boyfriend spent too much time looking he shouldn’t. Sadly, though I had brushed the idea of true love off. My fairy tale ended long ago, but hers didn’t seem to have an end. She got married to Prince Charming a year after they met. At their wedding, a cake with a red flower, cascading like a waterfall down the side, and the light bulbs hanging from the trees. That was my idea. She loved it.
She entered from the light blue house atop the hill, walked down the aisle in a tan dress with lace on the top and crawling out from the waistband. Did I mention she liked lace? She was stunning, as always, but the glamour didn’t last. Their marriage was a success, but soon after the big day, she lost a baby. Her husband bought her a simple charm, sterling silver heart with a baby tucked inside and one, dazzling, white diamond. She wore the necklace out; she was always buying a new chain to carry the pendant. She was hard to talk to after that. Sometimes she’d even cry. Her husband and I tried to help her out, and soon she was pregnant again. The blues fluttered away like butterflies to a warm place. It was a girl, who was sent to ballet school. Soon she was the lead in all her performances. What a charmed life. Oh how I envy. But all through this time it wasn’t just her life improving, but mine. I held on to those frivolous fairy tales and sashayed my way through life on high heels and shining dresses. I met my husband at one of her parties too; a real gentleman. We were married in the mountains, with a rustic wedding. And there were light bulbs hanging from the trees.

This is a story made with pictures taken from random Pinterest posts. Pictures ARE NOT MINE!!! I don't have the sources of the pictures (SORRY!!! I DON'T WANT TO COPYRIGHT!!!). I'll be better next time. ;( I hope you enjoyed the story.