Onstage

Bits Before: All written in a span of a few minutes, separated by a few days, and coincidentally (as noted by Jazz) it's all about being onstage. Written in Kioku on one of those midnight clack-a-clackin'

Maskless

She never takes off her mask.

Her fellow dancers could never see her true face. Before the show, or even after, there was absolutely no emotion on her face. That mask was rigid and fixed upon her features. The only time that anyone could see a difference in her expression, was during showtime. But everyone knew it wasn’t a true smile, a real frown. As good as her expressions were, her co-dancers knew she doesn’t really feel.

But then she reaches home.

He would look away from the newspaper, the television or his dinner and looked at her; really looked at her, through that mask, through her thick skin, across her blue-green eyes and into her soul. And just with that soft smile of his, she let go.

She took of her mask.

Just for him. 

Self-Perceptions

She studied herself in the mirror.

What she saw was a ghastly-looking… thing. The skin on her face was as smooth as the surface of the moon, with a slightly crooked and much too large nose. Her mouth was oddly-shaped; her bottom lip was too protruding, as if a bee had stung her; her upper lip was shapeless, more of a line rather than a lip. Her eyes were a muddy brown; it hasn’t got the shine of the stars, nor a distinctive glow. Her eyebrows were bushy, unkempt and downright wild. Her hair was frizzy, untamed and she felt like a mongrel after a dunk in a murky pond then blowdried with a gigantic hairdryer.

Her thighs were too huge and flabby—they were like extra appendages by itself. Her chest was flat and unappealing; even a washing board had more sex appeal than her. Her stomach was grotesquely layered, like a cake baked by a failed pastry student. Her hands were too big and manly, like paddles for a creaky old boat. Her feet were too long, and by comparison, her legs were too short.

She felt disproportionate, gross, fat and most of all, ugly.

*

He studied her as she walked towards the stage.

Her strides were long and unwavered, like she had becomes used to these kind of things. Her gaze was fixed on the stage—soon to be her stage, he knew— not a single quiver of nervousness through her neves. He even caught an allusion of a smile against her lips, as if she was and always be ready for things like this. Her gait, quite clearly shouted ‘Confidence’.

She loved the stage; she loved speaking on the stage. She loved standing there, in front of the masses, delivering her speech, he could tell. He wondered, as she started her opening, if she knew some people were captivated by her eloquence of her speech.

Because he was enchanted by her.

She may not be the most beautiful girl he met, but by far, he knew she was one of the most genuine girls he had ever met. And that made her a million times better than the skinny, giggling shallow cheerleaders flouncing the hallways. Looks weren’t everything. In fact, looks are just an superficial exterior shell that will soon shrivel and disappear with time. She had something that will last a lifetime, and that was something those cheerleaders do not: alluring charisma. She was original, unique, one in a million.

She was herself.

And that made her beautiful.

 

All Dreams have Endings

She is a dancer. On the stage, she is anything she fancies to be— an egregious housewife, a beautiful queen, a white swan— anything. That is why she loves the stage; she loves pretending someone whom she is not. On the stage, anything can happen to her, any fantasy, any dream.

But soon, her fantasy will vanish into thin air, and she will plunge painfully into the cold harsh reality. She is just a mere girl. No longer did she have a ruling empire; no longer was she two-timing her husband with a dazzlingly gorgeous stranger; no longer a graceful bird across mirror-like lakes.

Because all dreams have endings.

And her mesmerizing fantasies are only two hours long.

 

 - 'Mid 2012