||Short Story | One Shots||
||Ongoing I Sporadic Updates||
Like how cameras capture moments, so do words. With words, memories and moments are held as captives of time, in a single frame--much like a picture. Here lies a collection of one-shots, con...
"More four shots...I mean shots more four," Dallas Adams said in her Texan accent. "I mean four more shots, pretty please." She cracked up and I joined in with her, my own drunken laughter sounding strange to my ears.
Dallas and I were celebrating the inauguration of Key's Pirouettes, my official ballet lessons studio for little kids. Ten years I had worked my butt off as a teacher in other studios, and finally, I got my very own. Drinking was probably not the best way to be a role model to said little things, but...
"Let's dance, Keyna." Dallas hopped off the bar stool, her blonde hair flouncing. "I am so proud of you and so drunk." She giggled.
Dallas' enthusiasm and pride made me blush and I grinned back at her, sipping my drink. "Totes drunk, babe."
She tugged on my hands. "Come on. Let's dance." She swayed her hips, nearly giving me a lap dance in the process. Laughing, I followed her on the dance floor. The red and blue lights pulsed and the music filtered in through the speakers.
I wasn't good at 'club dancing.' Ballet was my oxygen, but I still managed to sway my hips, scream and throw my hands up in the air. My right foot started to throb after some time. I had worn six-inch heels, but my main issue was years of ballet had damaged my toes. A long period of time in shoes like these hurt like hell.
Tonight, I had vowed that I would not care. I was going to enjoy myself. I deserved it.
Then I felt it; the weird sense that someone was watching me, or like someone was ripping me to pieces with their gaze.
But in the crowd, I could not see anyone who was looking at me intensely enough for it to be uncomfortable. Granted, some pervs were eying my ass, but as soon as I caught their eye, they turned away. Yet, that peculiar sense lingered.
I tried to ignore it and continue dancing, managing to smuggle in some ballet moves while I partied.
Ignoring it was the first mistake that led to my death.
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For weeks after that, I was sure I was being stalked. I was not a paranoid person and never had been. But now...
My hair would rise up when I was on the street in the middle of the day. I was sure there was someone standing outside my window as well, in the night. Watching me read, watching me sleep.
But thankfully, my ballet class filled with little girls (and one little boy now too!) in pink tutus and leotards, was my safe haven. When I taught everyone that music was in their blood, and ballet was the way their body responded to it, I felt comfortable. I loved watching them do pirouettes and arabesques, stretching their pointy toes, clad in soft pink slippers.
All except the little boy's, whose shoes was a baby blue, of course. Alex, he was called. One of my best students after Chanelle.
The same Chanelle who now charged towards me and locked her legs around mine.
