Ignition [h.s]

04

^^ this is the painting described :) 

One Month Later

ELISE ROSEWOOD

Pennsylvania Ballet. Tangles of limbs flailing about a grand stage; women clad in sparkly white tutus and men in black leotards. The orchestral music accompanying their fluid movements is so loud that our audience seats are shaking with the volume of cellos and tubas and trombones—Jess grabs onto my knee every so often when her seat is pushed forwards by the particularly rowdy people sat behind us.

Most of the crowd is filled out by Julliard students because they brought both classes of music students and dance students on a college field trip to watch this ballet. Whilst it's beautiful, and even moving at times, the seats Jess and I landed are pretty far back within the crowd, so it's hard to gauge the contort of the dancer's expressions to help our analysis on the composition pieces—all we can really judge the performance on is by how hard the ballerinas propel into the air.

We've been sat in cramped red seating for a few hours now, working in the dimness as the lighting is reserved for the stage. A piece of paper filled with my brief musical analysis rests on my legs, but it's a little torn at the edges and I'm definitely going to have to rewrite this back at the hotel to make it legible. Our final grade for this semester is out in a few days, and this would be our last chance to bolster any lower end grades.

"Elise," Jess hisses as I guiltily turn my phone off and drop it onto my lap.

"What?"

She shakes her head. "Watch! It's about to finish," She nods her head towards the stage. I quickly forget how I had been researching other things to do in Philadelphia and redirect my attention to the crashing and banging of the orchestra. The conductor's arms are flapping so harshly they look as if they're about to snap off, and though I'm imagining it, it looks like a cloud of smoke is arising from the pit where the musicians are sat working with fervour.

My eyes gravitate to the dancers, though there's only two up on the stage now. A woman in a lilac tutu and tight brown bun in her hair is delicately stepping across the stage with the resemblance of a cat, through the cardboard stage pieces of trees and general foliage. She climbs to the top of some metal stairs which abruptly cut off half way up in the air. She delivers three quick pirouettes in succession which cause the audience to gasp at the notion; the platform which she is balancing on is so thin. Not so long after, a male ballerina follows her through the stage pieces, but his movements are a lot more abrupt. He waits at the bottom of the metal stairs for a few moments, as if he isn't sure whether to climb them or not. The audience holds their breath in anticipation before he goes blundering up the stairs and the music hits crescendo when he reaches out a pale hand under the white spotlight to grab for the woman.

Ultimately, he's a fraction of a second too late.

She falls backwards off the stairs, flying through the air like hazy, purple cotton candy. It feels like slow motion, but really her body completely disappears within seconds, as she likely hits a mattress positioned at the bottom of the stage for her fall. This leaves her male counterpart standing in relevé high up on the stair beams with a look of final devastation on his face.

Then the lights turn black signally the end, and the audience spring from their seats roaring. I'm so shaken by the performance, I almost forgot how it's scripted and planned to be this way. I almost thought the woman had actually fallen to her death. People on either side of me are clapping and whooping furiously, making my seat rattle. Even Jess is on her feet and roaring through her cupped hands. The performance was pretty incredible, so I timidly get to my feet and join in with their claps of admiration. The back of my heels hurt from just thinking about how much of a strain they must put on their feet.