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  • Writer's pictureSandra Dosdall

Life without Ballet would be Pointeless...

She had walked that day, with Abraham and her brother along the Malecon, knowing that she was not walking alone. The sun burned through her hair and scorched the her scalp. Anger burned within Her, a frustration, a disappointment that was new, it was alarming and uninvited. She attempted to shake it off. But it settled in, became comfortable and held onto Her. Grabbing a part of her she hadn't known before. A part of her she felt was not becoming.

Her stomach grumbled and roared for food, but a stubbornness from deep within Her kept her mute. Quiet and resentful, she plodded on, the heat radiating from the cobblestones and threatening Her safety...Her brother rambled on, chattering with Abraham, subtle sentences of nonsense that made her mind wander.

She drifted into the past, to a time when she was free, a time when there were no limits, there were not boundaries to prohibit her growth and fulfillment. She relished in the thought. He imagination raced to ballet class where she was supposed to be. Stretching and preparing for demi-pointe. how unjust life is. It would not go without punishment, these choices made by Abraham. The affect on her had been detrimental and unsatisfying.

No Ballet? Totally a foreign concept.

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