Why YOU (if you’re a young writer, grades 6-12) should join our Writing Club on iUrban Teen Online:
She dances with the stars at night,
And with the wind in wintertime,
Upon her eye the moon shines bright,
As perfect as two words that rhyme.
Her heart beats with a rushing pace
As light her feet twirl on the ground,
Exhilaration on her face,
Her greatest hopes and joys abound.
Oh, lonely ballerina,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
I have long both loved and hated you
Alone so gracefully.
An eerie song she dances to,
As soft and gentle as the sea,
The sky turned dark, the moon turned new
Yet still her slippers turn from me.
Her hair blows lightly in the breeze,
Her dress, it trails along the ground,
Yet still she dances, yes, with ease
In starlight as she spins around.
Oh, lonely ballerina,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
I have long both loved and hated you
Alone so gracefully.
I watch behind the widest tree,
Frightened to breathe lest I be heard,
Her song has no source I can see,
Yet it continues without word.
Faster, faster still she dances,
Spinning in a whirl of light,
Her mythic ghost of glimpse and chances
Shames the trees with vanity’s height.
The forest whispers, spins around her,
Frightened now, I give a shout,
She whirls and sees that I have found her,
Then disappears, a star gone out.
I run into the clearing, needing
One last glimpse, oh, one last glance,
My fragile heartbeat on is leading,
Fluttering on wings of chance.
Oh, lonely ballerina,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
I have long both loved and hated you
Alone so gracefully.
Cautiously upon the grass,
I spin around, my arms raised high,
Her song shatters the night like glass,
And in the trees, I hear a sigh.
I halt my dance as she approaches,
Gliding toward me through the night,
Her lovely face to me reproaches
Eyes of silver, coiled tight.
Oh, lonely ballerina,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
I have long both loved and hated you
Alone so gracefully.
Her hands are cold and hard as marble,
Yet her touch is feather-light,
She guides me through her mystic motions,
Pervading my sense of sight.
Up close I see her feet are bleeding,
Eyes as sad and dark as sin,
She’s not at all what I expected
And yet still, she draws me in.
Oh, lonely ballerina,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
I have long both loved and hated you
Alone so gracefully.
She twirls me round till I am gasping,
And my heart begins to race,
Her melody is everlasting,
Silver hair over her face.
Her gaze is soft but unremorseful
As her fingers let me go,
I spin alone with movements forceful
Absent of the grace hers show.
I dance beneath the stars at night,
And with the wind in wintertime,
Along my face my tears shine bright,
My life in payment for my crime.
Oh, lonely ballerina,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
I have long both loved and hated you
Alone so gracefully.
Oh, lonely soul of envy,
Won’t you come and dance with me,
With shoes stained red, and skin blanched white,
Alone so gracefully.
Kara L is an incoming high school student from the beautiful southwest part of Washington State. She’s passionate about writing as expressing oneself and one’s ideas in a form of art.
Calla gave a half-muffled shout as she tumbled out of her rocking chair, landing on the floor in a tangled heap of limbs and cloth, the book that was over her eyes now discarded and disregarded on the ground. With a groan of frustration, Calla raised her head to face the atrocious beast she knew would be on her freshly cleaned porch. Freshly. Cleaned. Porch. Just cleaned today. Which was now probably covered in scuff marks from her fall.Calla was disappointed. But that wasn’t important right now.
“You again!” She ground out, attempting to stand, but collapsing onto her 60-year-old bones in a heap again. With a hmph of anger, she settled with glaring at the beast from her hazardous position on the ground. This was so annoying. For a week, the devil had found it necessary to visit her 7 days a week, 4 weeks a month. “Would you just leave me alone, you scoundrel!”
The beast narrowed its jade-green eyes, ruffling its dark fur before licking one paw, using it to pat down one pink ear. It opened its mouth, baring its knife-like white fangs in a yawn, as if it was bored with her reaction. The action angered Calla, and she narrowed her eyes. It tilted its head curiously, widening its emerald eyes, pupils growing. If she wasn’t so mad, Calla would have said that the beast was almost cute. Almost. But not quite.
Meow.
Calla gave the cat a dark look before rising to her feet, properly, this time, dusting off her apron in an attempt to salvage any dignity she had left from her rather humiliating fall. With a raise of her head and a tilt of her chin, Calla spoke, trying to seem regal, but failing, rather harshly.
“I told you before I’m not adopting any cats,” she stated, using a bored tone, and the small black kitten gave another pitiful meow. It tilted its head down and looked up at her with innocent, round eyes.
Calla rolled her eyes and sniffed. She would not let this monstrous beast get to her.
“I was taking a nice, short, pleasant nap before you came here,” Calla said with a huff, seeming annoyed. Inwardly, Calla hoped the beast didn’t know her true intentions. But he did. If the beast were human, Calla was certain it would surely raise one eyebrow. But the expression the cat currently had on its face was close enough to ruffle her feathers.
Calla turned around, huffing. She was a 60-year-old woman, retired, but with plenty of money saved in the bank. She was not going to let a mere cat convince her about anything. Nope. Nothing at all.
“Fine!” Calla yelled, whirling, her apron flaring out to the side, almost dramatically. “Fine! I was supposed to be baking for a homeless shelter, but I was tired, and it was just a short nap, all right?!” The beast twirled its tail, before plopping down on Calla’s freshly cleaned porch with a look on its face that clearly said, ‘I have all day’.
One beat of silence.
Two.
“I would’ve probably slept for an hour if you hadn’t come, all right? I’m not admitting anything to you, everybody knows this, all right?” The beast yawned, its mouth opening in a wide yawn, pink ears going back, pearly-white teeth glistening in the setting sun. It then shook its head, as if disappointed in her, before returning its eerie green eyes back at her face.
Calla’s blood boiled. The audacity of this cat! How dare it!
“FINE!” She shrieked. “The employees at the homeless shelter only think that I need a day to bake these cookies because of my arthritis, when in reality, that was a lie and I just wanted to nap in between baking hours!”
The beast didn’t move this time, from its seated position on her porch, and it didn’t have to, as Calla proved moments later.
“I ADMIT THAT YOU’RE GOOD FOR ME, I ADMIT IT! ARE YOU PLEASED? ARE YOU PLEASED THAT THIS OLD LADY ADMITS TO YOU THAT YOU, THE LITTLE BEAST, IS GOOD FOR HER?! ARE YOU HAPPY? ARE YOU EXHILARATED?! ARE YOU DANCING ON YOUR DEVIL PAWS IN JOY?!?!”
A couple walking by Calla’s house were peering at her with strange looks, like they didn’t see old ladies yelling at cats every day. Probably thought that she was senile. She certainly seemed so, from the angered expression on her face, to the way she was waving her fist at the innocent, pure, sweet little kitten at her feet.
“Get off my lawn!” Calla hollered at the couple, the exact picture of a stereotype grumpy old lady pictured in movies. It was maddening how the old ladies in movies were either sweet, or downright mean. The couple hurried away, and Calla turned back to the beast, grumbling under her breath about “people these days.”
Through this, the beast hadn’t even blinked.
He just stared at Calla with an unreadable expression.
One beat of silence.
Two.
Three.
“FINE! I ADOPT YOU, JUST STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!” Calla yelled. Calla could’ve sworn that the cat began to smile, but it got up, and stretched too fast for Calla to see.
“Get in the house, Lucifer.” Calla hissed. She inwardly complimented herself on her cleverness in naming the beast.
Lucifer calmly waltzed into the house as if he owned it. But not before turning, and giving Calla the strangest, most mischievous look ever. It triggered a flashback, to the first time he had arrived on her porch, the picture of innocence. She had let him in, of course, thinking he was just a poor stray kitten. Until he had knocked down her favorite lamp. It was an expensive lamp. She nearly took back her decision at that thought. But it was already decided, and Calla was not a lady to go back on her word.
But in that moment, Calla knew that this beast would be on the top of her worry list for many years to come.
Lucifer certainly lived up to his name.
Finally getting enough of the sobbing and cries for mercy from God, I manage to shuffle myself over to the balcony, knowing no one would really notice if I was gone.
Letting my arms rest on the railing, I held myself up with my hands. I wasn’t crying, even though I should have been. And I wasn’t bottling up my emotions to a breaking point or anything, either. I just felt… empty. Empty after that one Monday evening. Empty after I lost my brother forever.
Looking out on the city before me, I took a mental picture. Sirens going on and off, the blinding lights of office buildings, hospitals, skyscrapers. I wonder if he would like the view. Did he see that same view before he-?
“It’s a bit late, huh? Shouldn’t you be inside with everyone else, sobbing?”
I turn around to look at the person speaking to me even though I’d already know who it was. “Fraiser. good to see you,” I said to the maroon-headed figure stepping out of the shadows, his hands in the very tiny pockets of his black suit.
“Good to see me”? You don’t seem super depressed. What, has the thought that he’d never come back not hit you yet?”
I winced without making a sound. Yep. that hurt. Fraiser just really doesn’t know his limits sometimes.
“Why are you here? Do you have some sort of debt or deal or something with him that I need to solve before all hell breaks loose?” I asked, running a hand through my brown-black waves and praying they didn’t bet for 1000 dollars again. That’s one weekend of my life I’ll never be able to get back.
Fraiser scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Can’t I come to a funeral service for one of my best buddies?”
I sighed walking back into the room of sobbing without a word to Fraiser. He was just too much to deal with right now. Lucky me, it’s a Saturday, and I don’t have to deal with the sharp glares and whispers of the other teenagers as I walked through the halls.
“Did you hear? His brother-”
“Yeah, I heard he jumped off a-”
“Nooo! that must be awful to deal with, especially since it’s his twin brother.”
I can already imagine them whispering, cutting and ripping and tearing apart any ounce of strength I had left and stepping on the pieces left behind. All without knowing, all without trying.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will always hurt me.
*
Last night, I dreamt I was him again. I would be leaning on the railing, then my body would start moving without my control. Before I could realize what was happening, I was on the railing, standing for a few seconds before slowly leaning forward to my twin brother’s demise. And right as I was about to hit the ground, I’d wake up. Usually in a cold sweat. And then I’d look to his side of the bedroom, expecting to see him in his bed sleeping until the words ‘oh, yeah’ came to mind and I tried to replay what happened in the nightmare, staring up at the ceiling until morning.
I read somewhere that it’s normal to have dreams like that after a family member had committed suicide, but I still felt like something was seriously wrong with me.
My parents had been asking me repeatedly if I wanted to go to school on Monday, and I just said, “I’m fine.” When they’d ask, hoping that would answer their question. Although, I was just saying that so they wouldn’t worry as much. I obviously wasn’t fine, but if people thought I was, who was I to say they were wrong?
It was Sunday, the day after the funeral, and I hadn’t emerged from my room no matter how much prying my parents did, which wasn’t much because I could tell they were hurting, too. They probably didn’t want me to know, though, because parents are weird about being sad in front of their children for some reason.
Sitting in our – my – room was a bit painful considering the circumstances. But, when I looked over to his part of the room, messy to the point where Mom wouldn’t bug him about cleaning it, his awards shining brightly on his mantel, it gave me a bit of a better feeling knowing that he was there, even if he wasn’t. I looked to the hole in the wall from last summer when he and Fraiser tried seeing who could punch the wall harder (leading to him getting grounded, and me having to be his only source of human interaction for a month and a half). I looked to the broken ceiling fan with the blue whale sticker on it from when we were eight, and he was convinced that when he was sleeping something was trying to get him, and I told Mom and Dad that he needed something to look at to focus on so he’d be less scared. He smiled at me with his missing two front teeth, and I smiled back, mirroring him. We looked at our parents and they shrugged and said it didn’t do any harm. We found a bag of whale stickers in the back of his dresser, and he picked out the one where two cartoon whales were sitting with their shoulders to each other, smiling. He told me he’d picked that one so if I ever got scared during the night, I’d have a source of comfort to look at, too. And now, after eight years of him sleeping peacefully during the night, he’d be sleeping peacefully forever.
