CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: AGAINST MYSELF

 

            This place was beautiful; serene and elegant in its tone and sterility. The upper half of this circular room was snowy white, blank and submissive, and the lower half that seemed to go on for eternity was a night black that dribbled on the walls and atmosphere below with an unforgivable ink spill. The half was marked by a cross beam and upon that cross beam stood, opposite each other with tension in between, two ballerinas. They were dauntingly on the tips of their slipper toes with their ankles and calves wound in silky ribbon, revealing pale parchment skin between the gaps. Their bare arms rose over their head, their fingers jutted perfect to a point. The two figurines were donned in tutus, the netting flowing down like paint pouring down a canvas over their upper thighs. Their white faces were blank with a mask over. One was all in white and the other in black. Both however, despite the color of the tutus, were identical in position and size. They stared at each other just like a statue stares continually at what is ahead of them, forever. Their stiffness was a marveling beauty and uniquely, a type of grace. It was hard to tell if they were real, even their flat chests didn’t seem to depict any signs of breathing. Their hair was tied neatly back with a ribbon of their tutu color. The strands of ribbon only moving when they finally made their first movements.

            The black tutu woman gave a few flirtatious twirls on the tips of her toes, looking so marvelous and unspeakable stunning. At the same time, the white tutu women gave some blissful ,yet aggressive leaps, landing with a twirl. It was amazing how well they balanced on the thin cross beam and how agile they moved as they inched closer and closer. The white ballerina seemed more eager and cunning, making every movement fierce and sharp, leaving a reminisce of the beauty while the black ballerina seemed bashful but didn’t let her attempts falter, dancing closer to the other with her intricate footsteps and moves. All was silent except the sound of their slippers grating against the cross beam, the thud of their feet landing, the lashing of their arms and tiny whispers of their skirts whipping through the air.

            Then with a seemingly instinctive sign, the black ballerina broke into a light sprint, one foot after another and leaped at the white ballerina, who dove with a simple split of her smooth legs and waggle of her arms, groping at the seam of her corset and  ripping from it a blood red ribbon. The black ballerina’s death kissed lips receded into a quick emotionless smile, twirling the ribbon around her fingers for a moment as she playfully did some quick dance steps and kicks and then poked the ribbon down her bosom. It was unbelievable to see the white ballerina grow a little paler, nearly phasing through her tutu. She slid back into an upright position. She made a few leaps in her place, trying not to show any signs of injury from the assault. She showed herself without fault when she made a lash at the other ballerina with a quick and courteous twirl with one leg stretched out, seeming to mock the other when her toe brushed against her skirt. The black ballerina, all the while, continuing with fancy footwork then finally trying to make an advancement with a set of twirls and a few frolicking leaps. Her arms molded out in front of her at her hip with a round curve until she made a grab for the white ballerina once more. Success again when she whipped back another red ribbon.

             The white ballerina was struck with panic, seeing her face liquefy into a frenzy of controlled hysteria, retreating with a few swivels and loss of her balance. She teetered on one foot for a moment then got back her balance, her face contorting left and right, her eyes through her mask washing over with a segueing sense of adventure and a most unforgivable notion of dare in an instant, and then made a spiraling leap over the black ballerina. The black ballerina gave a light toss of her body with a spin on the beam to avoid her.

             Both sprinted to an end of the beam, turning to face each other, their angelic chins jutted up, craning their necks like a swan with their arms stretched above their heads and their one satin slipper toe pointed out in front of them, frozen in their places, they starred at each other. Without any signal, they sprinted at each that rather looked like tiny, decisive footsteps. They twirled around each other by a daring leap over the empty air, groping at each other’s faces, both snagging the opposite’s mask. Turning to face each, they only seeing mirror image of themselves…me. My face; I Samantha, was the those ballerinas—