Categories > Original > Horror > Some Things, are Better Left Unsaid. [Prologue]
“And one, two, three, four! Come on, pick it up ladies!” my ballet instructor, Ms. Gonzalez, chirped. There were five other women in the studio, apart from me, and every one of us was wearing some type of elastic shorts, a tank top, and pony-tails. The florescent lights reflected of the massive mirrors on each side of the room, and elucidating our features while we twirled, and turned to the hasty piano.
I weaved my body around all the other girls, and so did they. We’ve practiced this routine for some time now, and there’s nothing I could want more than to finally get it right.
“No, stop, stop. Angelica, you were off by two counts. And Jessica, you were lagging a bit. Take it from the top!”
“Five, six, seven, eight!” she counted off, sending us into a hurried—yet elegant—frenzy. The song started out at a 150 tempo, but gradually became more relaxed around the ending. Unfortunate for my aching toes, the song doesn’t end for another four minutes.
Ballet has always been my escape ever since I was five. I continued to love it through Jr. High, and High school, and took private lessons along with group classes. I’d always aspired to go to a school that offered good academic classes, and a dance scholarship; I just didn’t think that such a thing existed.
I counted in four/four time silently to myself, my pony-tail flouncing with each bouncy step. The piano began to slow steadily, and my toes were very thankful for that. The back of my calves and thighs were tingling from burning so many calories, and I smiled to myself. That was another thing I loved about ballet; you were always skinny.
“Alright, good work girls. You are dismissed,” Ms. Gonzalez was in a good mood today, surprisingly. Normally she’s very shrill, and uptight; I can only imagine what going through a divorce is like.
“Excuse me, miss. Is it alright if I stay afterwards today?” I asked her as she was about to walk away.
“Sure thing, Colleen. But when are you going to give yourself a break?” It was a rhetorical question; I could tell by the way she didn’t wait for my response.
I placed my hands on the cool, metal bar, and leisurely propped my leg straight in the air. I held it there for ten seconds, and did the same with the other leg. A bead of sweat trailed down my neck, and into my shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror in front of me, and hated what I saw. I was absolutely dirty; definitely going to take a shower when I get home.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the back door opened, but realized it was just the janitor cleaning the floors.
“Do I have to leave?” I asked softly, but he didn’t seem to hear. “I said, do I need to leave?” He heard me that time, and apparently he had headphones in his ears.
“Oh, sorry. No, you don’t have to. You won’t even know I’m here,” he smiled, and my stomach flipped.
I continued practicing my stretches, but out of the corner of my eye I could feel him watching me.
“Do you mind?” I questioned, feeling a little irritated. He simply put his hands in the air.
“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes at his pathetic attempt to apologize, and carried on with my stretching.
“What’s your name?” his words had interrupted my concentration, and my eyes turned to his, piercing them like daggers.
“Why?” my words came out a low, muffled sound between my gritted teeth.
“Because I see you around campus a lot, but never knew your name.” He was completely oblivious to my annoyed self, which only got me more fumed. I’m never like this, unless I’m being pestered while in the studio.
“Colleen.”
“That’s a pretty name; I’m Landon.” I ignored him, and turned around. Whenever I looked into the mirror, his eyes always met mine, and my butterflies formed in my tummy. I had to leave. Now.
I picked my gym bag, and slung it over my shoulder swiftly, and walked towards the door.
“Where are you going?” His voice sounded a little hurt.
“Home. Where I can concentrate on my work.”
And with those last words, I shut the door.
I weaved my body around all the other girls, and so did they. We’ve practiced this routine for some time now, and there’s nothing I could want more than to finally get it right.
“No, stop, stop. Angelica, you were off by two counts. And Jessica, you were lagging a bit. Take it from the top!”
“Five, six, seven, eight!” she counted off, sending us into a hurried—yet elegant—frenzy. The song started out at a 150 tempo, but gradually became more relaxed around the ending. Unfortunate for my aching toes, the song doesn’t end for another four minutes.
Ballet has always been my escape ever since I was five. I continued to love it through Jr. High, and High school, and took private lessons along with group classes. I’d always aspired to go to a school that offered good academic classes, and a dance scholarship; I just didn’t think that such a thing existed.
I counted in four/four time silently to myself, my pony-tail flouncing with each bouncy step. The piano began to slow steadily, and my toes were very thankful for that. The back of my calves and thighs were tingling from burning so many calories, and I smiled to myself. That was another thing I loved about ballet; you were always skinny.
“Alright, good work girls. You are dismissed,” Ms. Gonzalez was in a good mood today, surprisingly. Normally she’s very shrill, and uptight; I can only imagine what going through a divorce is like.
“Excuse me, miss. Is it alright if I stay afterwards today?” I asked her as she was about to walk away.
“Sure thing, Colleen. But when are you going to give yourself a break?” It was a rhetorical question; I could tell by the way she didn’t wait for my response.
I placed my hands on the cool, metal bar, and leisurely propped my leg straight in the air. I held it there for ten seconds, and did the same with the other leg. A bead of sweat trailed down my neck, and into my shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror in front of me, and hated what I saw. I was absolutely dirty; definitely going to take a shower when I get home.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the back door opened, but realized it was just the janitor cleaning the floors.
“Do I have to leave?” I asked softly, but he didn’t seem to hear. “I said, do I need to leave?” He heard me that time, and apparently he had headphones in his ears.
“Oh, sorry. No, you don’t have to. You won’t even know I’m here,” he smiled, and my stomach flipped.
I continued practicing my stretches, but out of the corner of my eye I could feel him watching me.
“Do you mind?” I questioned, feeling a little irritated. He simply put his hands in the air.
“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes at his pathetic attempt to apologize, and carried on with my stretching.
“What’s your name?” his words had interrupted my concentration, and my eyes turned to his, piercing them like daggers.
“Why?” my words came out a low, muffled sound between my gritted teeth.
“Because I see you around campus a lot, but never knew your name.” He was completely oblivious to my annoyed self, which only got me more fumed. I’m never like this, unless I’m being pestered while in the studio.
“Colleen.”
“That’s a pretty name; I’m Landon.” I ignored him, and turned around. Whenever I looked into the mirror, his eyes always met mine, and my butterflies formed in my tummy. I had to leave. Now.
I picked my gym bag, and slung it over my shoulder swiftly, and walked towards the door.
“Where are you going?” His voice sounded a little hurt.
“Home. Where I can concentrate on my work.”
And with those last words, I shut the door.
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