It was hot inside the giant Faberge egg. Being the smallest member of the cast they had cajoled her into it with promises of a fancy white feather headpiece and diamonte accessories. She crouched backstage in this bizarre prop for what seemed like hours, her face pressed close to the side of the egg hoping that her make up would not smudge and that the trail of feathers attached to her bottom would not snag as she made her grand escape. Her breath was calm and steady as she waited for her music to start. The sound of the band and crowd intimidated her, protected as she was by only a thin wall of lacquered papier mache. The silver sequinned bodice scratched her arms and the matching sandals cut into her feet as she crouched . Lilian couldn’t imagine how she was going to pull this off. The music stopped and the lights dimmed and as she waited in the dark egg ,the chattering and clinking of glasses became unbearable. Eventually her music filled the room and she hatched with effortless elegance onto the stage and outstretched her slender arms . The unsteadiness she felt in the high heels, the sctratchiness of the bodice and the butterflies in her stomach ceased to exist as she bloomed in an incredible and sublime moment. She held still like a magnificent star on a cold night, a point of precise and dazzling light. It was a moment of perfection as she stood proud in her quivering ostrich feathers white as hard snow, the sequins singing and winking in the lights. For a second she lowered her eyes and slowly caressed her raised, poised arm. The theatre was still. She could only hear the sound of her own breath. She had entranced them. Slowly she raised her eyes and paused before the lights became warmer and the sudden notes of the brassy jazz blasted out a cue for the dancing girls to join her on the stage.
She performed that routine from theatre to theatre for a whole season. The bodice began to smell of her sweat and became stained with powder. The sequins cracked and the occasional one hung loose on a thread dropping onto the stage as she shimmied. After a season of wear it was good for nothing but trimmings yet she packed it away with care as though it was brand new. Tonight as she held it close to her cheek it no longer smelt of her but of age and dust. As she lifted it to the light it fell apart in her hands, the silver sequins cascading onto her lap. She felt ashamed, ashamed of her pride and of the fact that even her special thing was no longer special, just rotting and useless like herself. She brushed the sequins off in a huff and stuffed the garment into a plastic bag filled with cigarette butts and last night's dinner and unceremoniously threw it into the rubbish shute.
She performed that routine from theatre to theatre for a whole season. The bodice began to smell of her sweat and became stained with powder. The sequins cracked and the occasional one hung loose on a thread dropping onto the stage as she shimmied. After a season of wear it was good for nothing but trimmings yet she packed it away with care as though it was brand new. Tonight as she held it close to her cheek it no longer smelt of her but of age and dust. As she lifted it to the light it fell apart in her hands, the silver sequins cascading onto her lap. She felt ashamed, ashamed of her pride and of the fact that even her special thing was no longer special, just rotting and useless like herself. She brushed the sequins off in a huff and stuffed the garment into a plastic bag filled with cigarette butts and last night's dinner and unceremoniously threw it into the rubbish shute.
1 comment:
I enjoyed the description a great deal, and the pace (held and changed) too; it feels very clear and direct. I hope she finds that other things from her past don't make her turn away so completely.
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