Mafia's Dancer

Chapter One

-Rose Alistair-

I think almost every little girl once wanted to be like a ballerina or admired the beautiful dancers. I was always the kind of girl who wanted to wear all the beautiful ballerina costumes. Ever since I was a little girl, I have admired these wonderful dancers and always wished that one day I too would stand on stage in such a costume and simply forget everything around me while I move weightlessly to the sound of the music and simply let myself drift.

Luckily for me, my mother was just such a ballerina and therefore also my greatest role model. Not only in this respect, but I always admired her for how beautiful she looked in those pink and white glittering costumes.
Never heavily made up and with a light smile on her lips, she magically flew across the stage.
So she has always subconsciously motivated me to pursue my goals and never give up. She always made everything look so easy. Today I know that it was just the opposite and that she used dancing more as an escape from her everyday life.

My mother had to deal with many problems because of my father. Ever since I can remember, he was rarely around. In the beginning, I always thought that like many other fathers, he just had to work a lot and hard. But instead, at some point I found out that he spent all our money on alcohol and drugs. Even though she didn't really show it, I knew that my mother suffered a lot under these circumstances.

I can still remember sitting at the table in the afternoon, enjoying freshly baked cookies and a warm glass of milk, when my completely drunk father came bursting through the front door screaming for my mother. He had greasy and completely dishevelled hair hanging in his face.
His clothes smelled like 10 packets of cigarettes soaked in beer. His breath joined the smell and his clothes were dirty, so he looked like a homeless person.

Startled and also afraid, I followed the situation. Seconds later, my mother came running and looked from me to my father in panic before asking me to go to my room. With a racing heart, I jumped off the stool in the kitchen and ran as fast as I could to my room.
Even though I didn't know what was going to happen, I felt deep inside that it wouldn't be good. Once in my room, I locked my door and hid in my wardrobe. A little light came in through a narrow slit. Still, I couldn't see out from the inside and no one else could see in from the outside.

So no one would discover me either.
I could hear my parents shouting at each other. More like my father yelling at my mother. Then there was a loud noise and the next second everything was quiet. I could feel my heart racing and my hands began to shake.
A few moments later, I heard loud footsteps approaching my room before my room door was carefully and slowly opened. Tears welled up in my eyes before I buried my face in my lap and tried with all my might to stifle my sobs.

The narrow slit through which some light was thrown into the wardrobe suddenly disappeared.
The wardrobe door was pulled open and I was pulled out of the wardrobe.
Drenched in sweat and with a racing heart, I jolt up and look around in panic before realising that this was once again only a dream and not reality. This experience has burned itself into my brain so much that I have not been able to sleep peacefully ever since.

I lean my back against the headboard of my bed before straightening my right leg and resting my arm on my knee to hold my head with my hand, exhausted. Slowly, I take deep breaths as I close my eyes and try to calm down and remind myself that it was just a dream. "You are here and not in this wardrobe. You are here and not with your father," I keep whispering to myself.

Slowly my heartbeat calms down again and my breathing becomes calmer. I push my blanket aside and get out of my bed before I go over to the window and push the curtain aside a little. The bright daylight shines directly at me and illuminates my room.