The lights dimmed and as I blinked to focus, a hand reached through the darkness and nudged me forward. My stomach dropped and my mind went blank. Then the fluorescents blazed, the music began, and my feet started to move as if I was in a trance. I was not a small, goofy six-year-old but an elegant ballerina. My arms hit every pose, my feet precisely placed in every combination, and my little face full of glee. Then, without notice, the music began to fade and I felt myself settling like a superhero returning to the modesty of his disguise. Once again I was engulfed in blackness and the mysterious hands nudged me back to the tangled wings of the stage. As I stood off stage, I looked down at my perfectly polished, saddle-colored tap shoes, and …show more content…
My sister Alex’s costume was a great swirling mass of ruby and ivory, checkered to resemble the familiar pattern of a picnic table cloth. My costume was a childish combination of a milky color and onyx. The costume consisted of small black felt ears, fashioned to fit the theme of livestock, that itched my little head to no end. The randomly placed charcoal spots completed my transformation into a small cow. The recital was planned for the evening of Father’s Day. That morning ignoring my protest, my mama, sister, and I all headed to church. My miniature body wiggled and stretched, just trying to pass the everlasting minutes of church that seemed to drag on with my anticipation. My mind was completely spaced from the loud shouting and the soulful singing that usually identified church. When church was over, I rushed to my mom’s baby blue Honda and shuffled my feet waiting for her to end her ritual conversation with my …show more content…
It appeared that a tornado of glitter had whirled through Little Rock. Clothes were tossed off, tights ripped in their hurry to get them on, and kids were stuffed into their costumes after their unplanned summertime growth spurts. I entered with caution and searched for a seat to escape from the crowd. I finally managed to wiggle my way to an empty spot and my mama, mimicking the actions of the other parents, began to dress me in a similar haze. After dressing me and adding the finishing touches to my sister and my makeup, she returned to her seat to leave me drowning in my
From the time when Anna was a child, she had an active imagination and love of fantasy. She believed these aspects of her personality are what drew her to the world of ballet. Although her family was poor, her mother was able to afford a trip to the Mariinsky Theatre to see the ballet production of the Sleeping Beauty. After seeing this performance, Anna was so amazed and inspired that she decided she wanted to become a ballet dancer herself. Anna’s mother supported her every step of the way and did what she could to make her daughter’s
The author of this article focuses on the art of dancing, specifically ballet. This ballet shares many plot elements with other
I packed my things into a small U-Haul. We were leaving the town I had always known, Houston, to go someplace I barely knew, a small town named Navasota. We moved when I was four because my parents wanted us to experience a small town like they had grown up in. Would I find new friends? Would the people there like me?
As I sat there, I watched the mariachis get ready to play. They stood at the stage tall and proud with their heads held high. The suits that they wore glistened, shinny and colorful, with the spotlights shinning straight at them. About a minute later they held up their instruments and began to play. As they played, I couldn't believe my ears.
“Get up!!!” The whistle of the bullets flying past my head was like nothing I have ever heard ending anything and everything in it’s path. The roaring sound of bombers Echoing down roads and through homes Like a song of the devil himself. My life flashed in my eyes. And now to think it was over was nerve racking. Fire’s blazed in homes like a flower blooming in mid spring… The year Is 1944. Me and my men are going to a place where happiness Was imprisoned and not to be let free for it would be executed at once.A place Where the sky was black as coal.a place I’d never call home.The ekos of family's cries over gone loved ones for to them there end was also there beginning. The smell of gunpowder, mud ,and maggots in my food was not what
We walked into the school grabbing our cases from the truck and the buses. I walked into the building with the rest of the band. Moments have passed before it was our time to go on stage. My heart was pounding and it felt like my legs would give out any second. We went out in front of the audience, standing in front of our seats waiting for our cue to sit down. A few moments later we started our first song. It went as great as could have. Now it was time for “The Witch and the Saint”. It was time to play the piece that I’ve been waiting on since we received it. It’s time. All of our hard work was about to pay off. This was our time to shine. It was our time to show everyone that we aren’t just an opening act to symphonic band. Our band was
It was a sunny Thursday in April and we had just gotten back from spring break. I was tan, well-rested and I still had in my cornrows that I had gotten done in Aruba. After getting my pizza, my mom told me we were going to the mall as soon as I finished. Slightly confused, I ate my pizza and got in the car. Once at the mall, we looked around the dress section of Lord and Taylor. I picked a fun, ruffled yellow dress. I went to try it on, but it sadly did not fit. While we were walking to put back the dress, a familiar voice shouted, “Surprise!”
Bright lights, cameras, and thousands of people surrounded us, well, maybe not. One spotlight rested on the dirty cafeteria floor with a couple rows of people. Whoops! I meant parents. My brother, our friend Alex, and I stood on the tiny stage with our lustrous instruments. The crowd began clapping, and I ran like the wind off the stage. While I stood backstage with my hands shaking, I realized that my brother had led me through thick and thin. He always led me to the light at the end of every tunnel.
Ugh, why must it be one’s fate to wake up this early in the morning, my head is banging like a drum up there, I’m starving, I don’t want to go to school, I want to stay at home and do nothing. Sister stop with your complaining, you complain every time you wake to go to school, you don’t see me complaining every day, said a girl with long fuzzy black hair and chubby cheeks. Maybe for you, since you barely do anything and you don’t receive a huge piles of homework like I do.
“Your turn to roll the dice,” I said. We were sitting in the living room playing a board game. I had just gotten home from the factory. That was where I used to work. My wife was cooking dinner while I was playing a game with my two kids.
I had been consistently avoiding anything and anyone that might jeopardize my decision. My usual passion and enthusiastic spark were gone, replaced by a deep longing to understand why, exactly, I had ever fallen in love with this painstaking art, committing my life to its perfection. The variation would take what was left of me, a discouraged and weary ballerina, and slowly reveal the silver lining to the complicated mess of my emotions.
I don't know where you're going, but I know I’m the one you want to forget. I may say that I don't care what you think, but I'm two quarters and a heart down, and I don't want to forget how your voice sounds. I want these words to make things right, but it's the wrongs that make the words come to life. So thanks for the memories even though they weren't so great. Come on, make it easy.
The second half of the recital did not go as fully planned. What started off as a small number of minor mistakes quickly elevated into a full-blown mess of dynamics, speeds, and wrong notes. I ended the last song with tears in my eyes, striking the note with what little pride I had left. The spark of long applause was not enough to cheer me up, and I sank into the hugs of my mother, father, and piano teacher. Always a perfectionist, I was upset and miserable at not having played the songs with complete smoothness, as I had rehearsed and practiced on my own countless times.
The night of the dance finally arrived, after a whole week of sitting in class a day, daydreaming about the dance. I awaited my entrance cue; every moment feeling longer than the one before. While I stood there, I caught a voice whispering. I figured that one of the
When discussing the poetic form of dramatic monologue it is rare that it is not associated with and its usage attributed to the poet Robert Browning. Robert Browning has been considered the master of the dramatic monologue. Although some critics are skeptical of his invention of the form, for dramatic monologue is evidenced in poetry preceding Browning, it is believed that his extensive and varied use of the dramatic monologue has significantly contributed to the form and has had an enormous impact on modern poetry. "The dramatic monologues of Robert Browning represent the most significant use of the form in postromantic poetry" (Preminger and Brogan 799). The dramatic monologue as we understand it today "is a lyric poem in which the speaker addresses a silent listener, revealing himself in the context of a dramatic situation" (Murfin 97). "The character is speaking to an identifiable but silent listener at a dramatic moment in the speaker's life. The circumstances surrounding the conversation, one side which we "hear" as the dramatic monologue, are made by clear implication, and an insight into the character of the speaker may result" (Holman and Harmon 152).