there's this website that encourages to write 750 words every day, and this is what i wrote. it subconsciously became a modern, one-shot of Christine (Cara) finding her father dead, after being accepted into the Royal Ballet, situated in the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. if you like it, i may carry it on, as a modern day, maybe E/C fic, so read it and let me know whether you like the idea or whether i should leave it. thanks.


It was quiet when she woke, that cold, December morning.

Cara was used to being woken up by her father at 5:30am every morning, but today was different. Cara had woken up at 7:42am, sharp, to a quiet house. That wasn't right. That wasn't normal.

Cara Donnelly was a ballet dancer. She took after her father with her passion for the arts; she had grown up with regular trips to London's West End and the various ballets and operas that were being performed in the big venues. That was were her love started.

"Papa," a five-year-old Cara had told her father one night, "I want to dance!"

Chuckling, her father replied, "Come on, then, stand up, get out of bed. Let's have a quick dance before bedtime." Cara's father was a good, kind, yet lonely man, with a passion for music. His wife, a great singer, had committed suicide after the death of her close and beloved brother; she had been driven to madness, and found a new relief in death, not song. As much as her departure hurt her husband, Gareth Donnelly pulled through, raising their daughter with all the love and care he could. Despite the constant trips into London, he kept her in a small farm hamlet in Essex. He wanted to keep her safe, and away from anything that might lead her to the same place as her mother. He felt that he needed no other company, other than a young heir named Ryan, who lived over the hill from them, in a large country house.

"No Papa! I mean ballet! Like the pretty ballerinas we saw tonight!" Little Cara proceeded to dance all around her quaint bedroom on her tip-toes, before being swooped up into a lift and on to her bed.

"It's very hard work, you know, Cara. It hurts your toes, it's very demanding, you retire very early." Gareth saw hurt flash through his child's eyes. "I'm just warning you, okay? It's very hard, perusing a life in the arts. Myself and your mother know that."

"Is that why Mamma hung herself?" Cara's innocent question made Gareth want to cry.

"No, darling... Do you really want to be a dancer?" Cara nodded enthusiastically. "Well then, you go and ask the Angel of Music for it then." The five-year-old looked up at the Evening Star, the star which Gareth had taught her was where Heaven was, and prayed to him. "Now to God." Again, Cara obeyed and prayed. It was important that she was religious, for it gave them something to hope on.

The next morning, little Cara had gotten her wish. The Angel of Music had given her lessons with her mother's sister and dancer. Cara learnt quickly and her life seemed to revolve around dancing. Her cousin, Millie, was also learning, and the two of them became great friends, playing with Ryan in his manor house, when the lessons took place at the cottage. With the odd singing lesson from her father, many could see that Cara had great potential to be a dancer or a singer. She was truly talented.

The seventeen-year-old began to panic; her father always woke her at 5:30am, she went through her stretches, did a quick vocal warm-up, ate, then left for her dance school at 7:30am, dressed, showered and ready. This was the order even on weekends, like that day.

Jumping out of her bed, Cara pulled on a dressing gown and ran down stairs. Although she couldn't hear her father's violin, she hoped he'd be reading or silently composing.

"Papa!" She cried. No reply.

Running outside, she screamed his name, hoping he'd be taking a morning walk, but she had reached the hill she used to climb to get to her old friend Ryan, with no luck. Her father hadn't been himself since he was diagnosed with cancer. He had been quiet, less up for a laugh, not playing or singing as much. In the past year, the house had become cold and quiet. But not as quiet as that morning.

It didn't help how Gareth had ignore any form of treatment from the doctors, only taking his painkillers to numb his slow death. It had always felt like he was abandoning her; the last person she ever had was dying in front of her every morning.

She ran back to the house, fearing the worst.

Her father lay in his bed, lifeless, empty bottles of painkillers lying around. He promised her that he had been taking them. He lied. A letter was left though;

"Little Cara, I beg you, forgive your father. This will be horrible for you, but it's time my dear. A letter from the Royal Ballet came yesterday, whilst you were at school. Good news, my child, a scholarship; lodgings and care for nothing. You won't lose the house or my money, though. I sorted out a will when I was first diagnosed, waiting for the day when you could audition and succeed. I always knew you could do it, Little Cara. I just couldn't deal with the treatment or the chemo. That's why I rejected it. I knew my time would come when you were happy and successful, so I kept some pills aside for that. I beg for your forgiveness again, my love. Auntie Anna and cousin Millie will be with you, though, at the opera house. Do you remember visiting it? The ballets and the operas? Live your dream, child. It was all I ever wanted. I'll say hello to your mother for you. I've missed her so much."

His letter was flooded with the tears of a broken child. Her mother and her father had both left her, both through the sin of suicide. What were people going to say, or think?

Cara Donnelly treated herself to a full bottle of wine that morning; broken, hollow and alone. She danced, she sang, she tried to forget that her father was upstairs dead. It didn't work. Nothing could fill the hole.

Giving up, Cara called an ambulance to take her father away, as she re-read both her father's letter and the acceptance letter she found in his drawer. A second call was made to Auntie Anna Giry. She was going to London.


very bad, isn't it? ahh well, did you like it? would you like more? Cara's a more feisty, modern day version of Christine, so the character's will be different. i've always wanted to write a Christine with attitude or a really strength to her, so what better than in a modern fic.

r&r and let me know what you think!