Categories > Original > Drama

Ghost Of A Dancer

by JustAGhost 1 review

Another old oneshot. May be triggering. Also the origin of my username.

Category: Drama - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Horror - Published: 2013-08-04 - Updated: 2013-08-05 - 1266 words

I feel myself slipping away. As I feel as though I am being pulled towards the sky I look down to see my own body lying on the forest floor. Pale skin that is tight around protruding bones. Eyes wide and unblinking. Blonde hair tangled in the leaves. My body lay still. Lifeless. Suddenly, I am simply hovering gently above the ground. My bare feet are inches away from the leaf covered bed and the skirt of my thin, white dress floats aimlessly around me. A dress that I definitely was not wearing before. Although when I first got to the forest, when I was still alive that is, it was the middle of the night, but now it seems to be early morning. I make this assumption by the pale grey sky and the cool breeze.

Honesty was my name, but by the way I faked a smile in front of people. Just as I told everybody I was ok. Just as I pretended I wasn’t dying inside. I wasn’t honest. Holly was what I called myself, my loved ones promised to know me by that name. I acted as though I was a positive person, because deep down I was. All I ever dreamed of was a better tomorrow, but the gangs and thugs who surrounded me weren’t the ones.

I jump as I hear the sound of a branch snapping and turn around to see a man walking through the forest with his dog. He stops for a moment and squints his eyes as he sees my body. His eyes widen in fear and he rushes over to me. I watch as he pulls on the labrador’s lead to prevent it from going near me and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. His voice quivers as he asks for the police and informs them of the corpse he has found in the middle of the forest. After putting away his phone he ties the dog’s lead securely to a tree and takes a closer look at me. His eyes wander over my face and down but stop at my arms as the scars that decorate them are clear to see as I was only wearing the black leotard and skirt I would often wear to ballet.

I was going home from ballet at the time but once I entered the house I realised that it was time I ended it all. I quickly dumped all of the things I was carrying in my room and left the house again, making my way to the forest where I would leave it all behind. The wind seemed to pick up al of a sudden and it looked as though everything around me was moving much quicker than it should be. In the sky the clouds raced each other through the sky and the sun rose up from the horizon casting a few rays of light into the cold forest. As time returned to its natural speed, a large group of police men appeared and began crowding around my body.

As I felt as though the earth was slowing down, my vision grew blurred and things began to reverse, as though time was going backwards. I had to shut my eyes from the rush I felt through my entire body. I clutched at my throbbing head until the spinning motion stopped and I found myself in my own bedroom. But I was not alone; well does looking at the past version of yourself count as being alone? Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I watched myself practicing ballet in the mirror. Becoming a dancer was my dream, but I never thought I was good enough, mainly because of the fact that the majority of the other girls in my class were 10 times skinnier than I was. Well I thought they were anyway. It seems like you have to be as thin as possible now to go far in ballet.

I remembered this day. I had just returned from ballet lessons and was hating myself for all of the fattening foods I had ever eaten. But by this point I had starved myself for so long that my ribs were beginning to show, sticking out from my leotard. I didn’t seem to notice this though. The past me glared at the mirror and turned her back on it returning to her dancing, but tears filled her eyes green eyes. Walking gracefully on tiptoes over to the bed where I sat, the past me reached under her bed. I knew what she was looking for. She pulled out a large bottle of vodka, half of which had already been drunk. Unscrewing the lid I watched the strains in my neck and face as I swallowed the awful tasting alcohol. All the colour seemed to drain from my face and life in my eyes seemed to disappear.

The same rushing feeling takes over me once more but this time time goes forward to the day that I completely broke down. My past self stood in front of the mirror, hatred in her eyes. Knowing that nobody was in the house, she began to scream. Her voice grew louder as she yelled at reflection she hated so much. Why couldn’t she just be perfect? She screamed before taking a brush off her desk and hurling it at the glass. It cracked and shattered onto the soft carpet. I made my way over to the drawer where I found my trusted lighter and a packet of cigarettes, which was almost empty. Lighting one of the cigarettes I brought it to my mouth to see if I could see things any clearer. As usual they did not work.

Crouching on the ground, I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling on it with all my strength in frustration. Yanking some of it with such force that large clumps fell to the floor. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shook from the heavy sobs that caused me to gasp out large breaths. I watched as in fear as I knew what my past self was thinking at this point. Standing up she reached into a drawer next to her bed and pulled out a bottle of tablets she had been given a while back. The doctor told her one a day, she couldn’t take it anymore.

That was only a day before I ended my life. As the spinning motion returned I found myself back in the forest staring down at my dead body which was being placed in a black bag. If I thought I was worthless before, I was absolutely nothing now. Just a ghost now, just a ghost.

Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment when I opened them again I was floating next to my best friend. She was surrounded by dozens of reporters who found my story. I was known as the talented ballet dancer who didn’t find her glory. The reporters question my friend in loud, fast voices almost impossible to comprehend. But as the tears were streaming down her face what she said was true:

“She was just a girl, a scared girl.”

A/N This is a story I wrote in English class a while ago. It's inspired by the song Sorrow Of The Dead by MusicalBethan I'd recommend you go listen to the sng because it's really beautiful and one of my favorite songs. I thought it was quite good at the time, but I guess not. Ok bye guys.
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