The Ballet Barre Felt Against My Skin: A Short Story
I remember the way the ballet barre felt against my skin. The one point of comfort in this otherwise desolate, unfamiliar room, despite it’s hard exterior. Almost like the icy, frigid metal that I knew too well transferred into my body encasing every anxiety I had in a hard shell that nothing would ever get through.
I remember the way the freshly polished floor felt beneath my feet, as if I were to move even a mm to the left my whole world would collapse around me. I remember the clunk,clunk,clunk sound my pointe shoes made with every step I took. I remember the mint-green painted walls that felt as if they were closing in around me. I remember the number 3. The number they pined onto my like I were just another ballet-bot not worthy of a name
I remember the way the freshly polished floor felt beneath my feet, as if I were to move even a mm to the left my whole world would collapse around me. I remember the clunk,clunk,clunk sound my pointe shoes made with every step I took. I remember the mint-green painted walls that felt as if they were closing in around me. I remember the number 3. The number they pined onto my like I were just another ballet-bot not worthy of a name