A Perfection: A Short Story
He'd never felt so alive.
The dance studio that he'd spent most of his time in as a wide eyed five year old in his first pair of tap shoes was akin to his home. In fact, it felt more like home than his actual home, where his dad often teased him about his 'prancing around the stage like a bloody pony' but he knew that his dad preferred him doing this - his passion - than on the streets at ten o'clock at night smoking glue or sniffing weed.
He'd never try those. For one, his mother would probably kill him for even going out after ten and then hand him to Satan for even touching a cigarette or however they smoked the drug. If he took the drug? He shuddered at the thought. Hours of counselling would obviously ensue. That and dance would be taken away from him. …show more content…
He restarted the music and settled into his starting position. Legs shoulder width apart, hands elongated and pointing downwards. His dark brown fringe dangled over the rest of his face as he waited for the first beat to begin.
Slowly he moved his right shoulder to the music and then as the beat changed he was off. Putting as much emotion as he could possibly convey into his fluid movements.
He fixed a smile upon his dimpled face and stretched every goddamn muscle in his healthy body. This needed to be perfect, to be the best dance he had ever composed because the competition at the Italia Conti Academy was harsh.
The teachers had told him that he was a shoo-in and that if he got everything correct and his dancing was exemplary, then they'd make a change to the age of Billy Elliot. And also not make him a Liverpudlian; more like an articulate, sixteen year old from Berkshire.
He knew that was wrong. The way his teachers could so obliviously take away many of the underlying messages but this was his one and only chance to get on a West End stage. It was either this, or Butlins next summer when his education and scholarship was
The dance studio that he'd spent most of his time in as a wide eyed five year old in his first pair of tap shoes was akin to his home. In fact, it felt more like home than his actual home, where his dad often teased him about his 'prancing around the stage like a bloody pony' but he knew that his dad preferred him doing this - his passion - than on the streets at ten o'clock at night smoking glue or sniffing weed.
He'd never try those. For one, his mother would probably kill him for even going out after ten and then hand him to Satan for even touching a cigarette or however they smoked the drug. If he took the drug? He shuddered at the thought. Hours of counselling would obviously ensue. That and dance would be taken away from him. …show more content…
He restarted the music and settled into his starting position. Legs shoulder width apart, hands elongated and pointing downwards. His dark brown fringe dangled over the rest of his face as he waited for the first beat to begin.
Slowly he moved his right shoulder to the music and then as the beat changed he was off. Putting as much emotion as he could possibly convey into his fluid movements.
He fixed a smile upon his dimpled face and stretched every goddamn muscle in his healthy body. This needed to be perfect, to be the best dance he had ever composed because the competition at the Italia Conti Academy was harsh.
The teachers had told him that he was a shoo-in and that if he got everything correct and his dancing was exemplary, then they'd make a change to the age of Billy Elliot. And also not make him a Liverpudlian; more like an articulate, sixteen year old from Berkshire.
He knew that was wrong. The way his teachers could so obliviously take away many of the underlying messages but this was his one and only chance to get on a West End stage. It was either this, or Butlins next summer when his education and scholarship was