The beginning. Not of a life or family or world, but the beginning of what first appeared to be an ending. It simply reworked itself to be the beginning of seeing life in a very different and absolute way. A beginning. Many faces sit in the theater. They are anxiously awaiting the beginning.

The curtain opens, and the lone dancer emerges from behind, wearing a light blue dress and Pointe shoes dyed to a snowy white. She is content in her happy little niche. Nothing can stand in her way. She is not overly pretty, but her elegance outshines her exterior looks and, if only for 4 short minutes, she is incredibly beautiful. The pianist at the back of the stage begins its softly bright tune. She knows every leap, turn, and kick to the dance by heart as if it is her whole life. The piano continues playing, guiding her to every step, in no way failing. She experiences the closest thing to perfection on Earth: grace and happiness.

The mistake. Not of an incorrect answer on an exam, but the mistake made that starts a chain reaction of seemingly negative events. They simply become a positive effect. A mistake.

The piano’s lovely tune suddenly goes sour. A stunning melody cut short from an accidental flat. The musician tries to correct their fault, but only destroys the piece. All is lost from here. The musician fumbles over and over, not thinking how it would affect the dance.



But it does.



The ballerina, so graceful and poised, loses count, and begins to move to the wrong beat. Suddenly, she loses sense of everything around her, and the floor of the stage spirals toward her.

The fall. Not of a nation or a tree-climbing toddler, but the fall into what was first seen as a black hole. It simply emerged as a new beacon of light to move to. A fall.

No one comforts her. No one rushes to her aid. No one stops the bleeding and searing pain and tears. She tries to get up many-a-time, but fails again and again. All hope is lost. She is completely numb, body and soul. Dancing is her life, her dream. It’s all over. One little sour note led to the snap of a bone and the end of an era. She has nothing to live for any longer. She is no longer the amazing dancer everyone watched and adored.

Until she hears something. A small noise pulses in her throbbing head. It’s so painful, but still the sweetest sound in the world. It is so powerful, but still the softest sound she had ever heard. It is so sorrowful, but still the happiest sound ever to be composed. One voice, one guitar, harmonizing, gives her the strength and courage to get up and go on. The voice sings gently about a moment of sin, and the best way out of life’s everyday fray is through. Somehow, despite her wounds, she gets up. Her pain vanishes and she slowly stands and continues dancing.

She blames no one else for the incident. It isn’t the pianist’s fault for messing up; it is her own fault for almost choosing to give up. She is not going to give up, no matter what happens in that immense theater, now or ever.


There is no piano playing, nor is there an audience. It’s just the little noise, guiding the dancer back.