This short story is again, about death. Not scary, just a little sad. I really need to move on from this topic.
The curtain fluttered through the window, it’s once golden star pattern faded, see though. Cars whooshed past below and here she sat. Watching the people hurry by, heads bent against the wind, the setting sun making dancing patterns on the ground.
She brushed the curtain aside with gnarled, knobbly fingers, her nails catching on the threadbare strands. It was hard to believe it had come to this.
Around the studio apartment, her trophies and black and white photos of her dancing with Fredrick were tarnished and worn. Curled edges creeping in on the memories she had tried so hard to hold onto.
This is what a life of dancing had bought her, a lonely life where friends were competitors and the latest, shiny, new dancer meant you were pushed to the wayside.
She earned calloused feet from practising twelve hours a day, knees that buckled and ached as she shuffled along, but her heart ached most of all. She should have had her name up in lights, she should have been in film beside Ginger Rodgers and Rita Hayworth. Gliding and twirling for the camera, captured and immortalised forever.
Now this is all she would leave behind, memories and not even good memories, just adequate ones. So, here she sits everyday as the world moves on below and she remembers the life she once had, as the pale, pink paint blisters and peels off the wooden window sill. She sits and wonders if when the end comes, she will finally have some peace
It’s a horrible thing, waiting to die.
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Photo by Mark Fugarino via Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons
yes, sad but an amazing write ❤
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Thank you very much
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Sad is right, Lisa. I wonder about the artists who sacrifice everything for their art and if they end up with regrets. I suppose some do. 😦
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Absolutely, what is too much to sacrifice in pursuit of dreams? I suppose it’s different for everyone.
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There’s something so sad about this line: “…memories and not even good memories, just adequate ones.” 😦 I get the feeling that she has spent her whole life in a unsatisfied state. Like nothing in her life had ever made her completely happy. Not even dancing.
On an odd side note I totally had the mental image of her living in a beaten-down movie star trailer (which made her situation seem even sadder).
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Thank you. Yes she has, she loves her life waiting for that break and when she didn’t get it nothing else was good enough. It’s a horrible way to live. If you want to see her in a trailer then you go right head.
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A heart breaker again. She had this illustrious career and “trophies” but there is a lack of people around her and no pictures of family. She has her abnd her dance partner dancing but beyond that she never accomplished what she desired, what she thought possible for her. I suppose she never learned it’s not memories or moments of success but memories and moments with people we love or learn to love. That makes me sad.
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Thank you so much! This is absolutely the essence of this story. I’m glad you liked it
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Beautifully written and those last lines … so sad.
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Many thanks, Miriam 😄
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This is indeed sad, Lisa. I found myself feeling really sorry for her.
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Yes, I got the idea looking at an old woman watching the street near the city. She just had this wistful, but remorseful look on her face.
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That’s great writing mojo, there.
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So sad. The last line bears the weight of her loneliness and misery.
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Thanks for reading! Yes, the poor old thing.
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My pleasure. I forgot to mention that I loved the blurring of boundaries between the old house and her body. Well done!
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Many thanks 😊
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You’re welcome!
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