Disclaimer: It never changes.
And now, a few words from the author: I would first like to thank everyone for reading, no matter what you may have thought of it. Second, forgive me, but I never much enjoyed the spelling parts of ballet. I always cared more for how dancing made me feel rather than how it was actually spelled. Third, I'm sorry if you don't like my writing style. I was always a details type person, and as is such, I am a romanticist writer. Meaning, I focus more on how something is written rather than what is means. If you think this fanfic is bad, I urge you not to read my other one, which is full of psychological details.
I am sorry I have been slacking off in writing. I am hardly one to be halted with bad reviews; rather I was just too busy these past few months.
Now, on to the fanfic, which I am going to have to make up as I go:
Ever realize how your alarm clock sounds like the screams of the damned? Like a mortal may sound as the fall into the jagged flames of roaring hell fire? Like an angel ripped apart by a million demons, all with scorching hands and dagger nails?
Or perhaps you realize that getting up at bloody 5 o'clock in the morning makes me feel all poetic and shit.
Turning off my alarm, I laid in bed for a few moments, sighing. I was so tired from the class the night before, that I had to slap myself to wake up. Slowly, I managed to sit up, yawning heavily. Hearing slightly muted rock music from the bar across the street, still active from the party that was suppose to end last night, I stood up and stretched.
As I began to wash my hair in the shower, I began to question why in the name of hell I decided to sign up for that extra history class on Saturdays. I should use this day to sleep in and get over hangovers that may or may not occur on the Friday before. True, it sounded like a good idea at the time. Renaissance history always fascinated me; I even considered studying it over dance. But at five in the morning, almost everything good sounds evil.
20 minutes later, both me and my dark-circles-under-the-good-ole-eyes were dressed and ready to leave. Exiting the building, I grabbed a cab, and headed to my class.
3 hours later...
...I had finally grabbed breakfast, finished the class and was on my way up to my room when someone called my name.
"Veronica!"
Turning around, and almost losing my balance from having failed to notice the: Caution, wet floor sign, I spotted Eva running towards me, her dark hair loose about her shoulders.
"Hey Eva," I said as she came closer. Droping my heavy bag, full of books, I studied her. She looked upset, but wasn't crying. A packet of cigarettes was in one hand, one that was trembling, and a paper was in the other.
"Read this!" She shoved the paper under my nose. As I began to read it, I slowly grabbed the paper myself. It read:
Notice-
The "Scenes from Swan Lake" showcase has been postponed for the time being. All dancers that have a part in this piece are to meet Mr. Reeve's in studio #3 at 5:30 tonight. Due to certain funding errors, the piece may be subject to cancellation.
Sincerely, Management.
Looking up at Eva, I knew that I must have looked just as upset.
"This is bullshit. We worked on that piece for over 2 months now; the board approved its funding-" Not sure of what thought to shout out, I picked a random one in my head. One that summed up all my thoughts pretty well. "Those bastards."
Crumbling the piece of paper and throwing it away, I ran my right hand through my hair shakily.
"This is like my worst nightmare come true. My first solo piece and they want to fuck it up." Grabbing my bag, I turned swiftly and ran up to my room. Throwing my bag against the wall, I sat on my bed. I was crying- sad. Just pissed off-sad. I needed something to hit, or kick, or, hell, just beat up.
Looking at the clock, I sighed. I had plenty of time to kill, and no game (things to hunt) was in site. Laying back on my bed, I sighed, feeling very pathetic. Seeing my closet wide open, one of the darkest parts of my room, I walked slowly over to it and sat down, tucking my knees to my chin.
A soft knock came upon my door.
What if I didn't answer? What if whoever was on the other side of that door actually became worried and called for the police? And when the police arrived they would find me clutching my knees cradling a mirror, in which I looked at myself over and over again with a very pathetic face. What if one of the policemen thought I was cute and we ended up dating awhile. His name will probably be Ray, and he'll have dark hair and blue eyes. He'll probably get tired after a few months and we'll break up. Thinking that Ray was an asshole and how I didn't want to meet my future boyfriend, I crawled out of the closet and answered the door.
The whole gang was standing outside of my door, in which I had to look up at them from my very pathetic spot on the floor.
"Yes?" I managed.
And now, a few words from the author: I would first like to thank everyone for reading, no matter what you may have thought of it. Second, forgive me, but I never much enjoyed the spelling parts of ballet. I always cared more for how dancing made me feel rather than how it was actually spelled. Third, I'm sorry if you don't like my writing style. I was always a details type person, and as is such, I am a romanticist writer. Meaning, I focus more on how something is written rather than what is means. If you think this fanfic is bad, I urge you not to read my other one, which is full of psychological details.
I am sorry I have been slacking off in writing. I am hardly one to be halted with bad reviews; rather I was just too busy these past few months.
Now, on to the fanfic, which I am going to have to make up as I go:
Ever realize how your alarm clock sounds like the screams of the damned? Like a mortal may sound as the fall into the jagged flames of roaring hell fire? Like an angel ripped apart by a million demons, all with scorching hands and dagger nails?
Or perhaps you realize that getting up at bloody 5 o'clock in the morning makes me feel all poetic and shit.
Turning off my alarm, I laid in bed for a few moments, sighing. I was so tired from the class the night before, that I had to slap myself to wake up. Slowly, I managed to sit up, yawning heavily. Hearing slightly muted rock music from the bar across the street, still active from the party that was suppose to end last night, I stood up and stretched.
As I began to wash my hair in the shower, I began to question why in the name of hell I decided to sign up for that extra history class on Saturdays. I should use this day to sleep in and get over hangovers that may or may not occur on the Friday before. True, it sounded like a good idea at the time. Renaissance history always fascinated me; I even considered studying it over dance. But at five in the morning, almost everything good sounds evil.
20 minutes later, both me and my dark-circles-under-the-good-ole-eyes were dressed and ready to leave. Exiting the building, I grabbed a cab, and headed to my class.
3 hours later...
...I had finally grabbed breakfast, finished the class and was on my way up to my room when someone called my name.
"Veronica!"
Turning around, and almost losing my balance from having failed to notice the: Caution, wet floor sign, I spotted Eva running towards me, her dark hair loose about her shoulders.
"Hey Eva," I said as she came closer. Droping my heavy bag, full of books, I studied her. She looked upset, but wasn't crying. A packet of cigarettes was in one hand, one that was trembling, and a paper was in the other.
"Read this!" She shoved the paper under my nose. As I began to read it, I slowly grabbed the paper myself. It read:
Notice-
The "Scenes from Swan Lake" showcase has been postponed for the time being. All dancers that have a part in this piece are to meet Mr. Reeve's in studio #3 at 5:30 tonight. Due to certain funding errors, the piece may be subject to cancellation.
Sincerely, Management.
Looking up at Eva, I knew that I must have looked just as upset.
"This is bullshit. We worked on that piece for over 2 months now; the board approved its funding-" Not sure of what thought to shout out, I picked a random one in my head. One that summed up all my thoughts pretty well. "Those bastards."
Crumbling the piece of paper and throwing it away, I ran my right hand through my hair shakily.
"This is like my worst nightmare come true. My first solo piece and they want to fuck it up." Grabbing my bag, I turned swiftly and ran up to my room. Throwing my bag against the wall, I sat on my bed. I was crying- sad. Just pissed off-sad. I needed something to hit, or kick, or, hell, just beat up.
Looking at the clock, I sighed. I had plenty of time to kill, and no game (things to hunt) was in site. Laying back on my bed, I sighed, feeling very pathetic. Seeing my closet wide open, one of the darkest parts of my room, I walked slowly over to it and sat down, tucking my knees to my chin.
A soft knock came upon my door.
What if I didn't answer? What if whoever was on the other side of that door actually became worried and called for the police? And when the police arrived they would find me clutching my knees cradling a mirror, in which I looked at myself over and over again with a very pathetic face. What if one of the policemen thought I was cute and we ended up dating awhile. His name will probably be Ray, and he'll have dark hair and blue eyes. He'll probably get tired after a few months and we'll break up. Thinking that Ray was an asshole and how I didn't want to meet my future boyfriend, I crawled out of the closet and answered the door.
The whole gang was standing outside of my door, in which I had to look up at them from my very pathetic spot on the floor.
"Yes?" I managed.