There comes a point in your life where you have to grow up. You can't hold onto the fantasies to keep you stable and need to see reality. To look up from the pages, or the screen of the alternate universes and accept that life is not there. You don'...
⚠️ Warning ⚠️- Mentions Grief and Death (Feel Free to Skip this Chapter)
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The numbness was something Azazel knew all too well. The lack of feeling in your toes as they cannot handle the pain anymore of your full weight only lessened thanks to the box of the pointe shoe.
The numbness was something your body did to protect you.
So then what was the numbness protecting her from now? As it spread across her chest and through her head. Now she's frozen in an attitude of 90 degrees on top of her pointe box. It's suddenly cold. Which makes no sense because her muscles are on fire.
And then she's off again. Her moves tinged with grief as she feels her muscles pushing to the extreme as though if the grande jeté was high enough she could finally reach the heavens. The music thudding harsh in her broken ribs and empty stomach.
Her turns sharp with a turned out extended leg that whips into a second turn. The sweat drips down her back soaking the costume clinging tight to her body and soon the silence from the audience in front of her is suddenly deafening as within her steps she's begging.
Somebody listen! Somebody hear!
The stage lights are blinding.
Then the music disappears.
And she's standing on stage still in B Plus, her left foot in perfect turn out and that right foot tucked back as she watches the rest of the company exit from the wings as she waves her arms before she's weaving through the crowd.
But there's no more piano.
There's a voice. Someone's singing.
It's soft and melancholic. And she's exiting stage right running after the voice. There's the figure with the same eyes.
Emerald. Vivid. Sharp.
The pointe shoes thud on the floor. Chasing the woman that share the same eyes as Azazel. What was she doing back here? Was what the doctors said a lie?
No. Azazel saw it with her own eyes.
The cold pale face, the emerald gaze that shone like a jewel. Now dull and empty.
"What are you doing? You're back onstage!"
And Azazel is ripped from the woman with the emerald eyes. The emerald eyes that still shine.
Ripped out of the shadows and back into the spotlight.
So why does it suddenly feel so cold and dark? Her developè holds all the control she suddenly felt she was losing. The voice is singing. It's familiar. It's warm. But instead of making her feel happy it causes her mascara to come down her face. Then the voice stops and she doesn't even stay for the bows.
She doesn't even change out of her costume.
Doesn't bother taking off the pointe shoes.
She's running to the audience slamming the door open watching her fellow ballerinas and danseurs in B Plus and bowing with the flowers falling like rain petals. They're all blurry shapes.
"Azazel what are you doing? You're supposed to be on stage?" Comes her brother's voice. She can barely hear him. His phone is in his hand the screen flashing.
The hospitals number.
Ajax doesn't have it saved because they've never needed to call him. Because Azazel has always answered.
Because Azazel has that number memorized.
"Azazel?"
"We need to go."
~~~~
Azazel had her brother drive. She couldn't trust her shaky feet. Despite him being fourteen and driving illegal, he was well versed behind the wheel due to the racing program he partook in. Azazel could say her brother was a better driver then she was and had never crashed. Despite being allowed for the second time ever to drive in the streets ... he didn't go crazy with the power. If anything her brother was already sensing the dread and seemed to drive safer on the 30 minute drive to the hospital. Driving exactly the speed limit and overly cautious as he finally parked in a perfect parallel parking spot.
Azazel went to wrench the door open when a hand grabbed her wrist. She turned to see her brother and his pallor.
Like that of a ghost. So small and he looked funny behind the wheel of a Camry instead of the race car. His brown eyes, the ones that their father once shared shine with unshed tears and a type of anguish she couldn't yet feel. In fact... all she could feel was the fresh air spilling into the car and the throbbing of her toes as they had finally regained feeling in them.
"We need to hurry Ajax." Azazels voice was calm and somehow soothing as she spoke to her brother. He nodded once and she couldn't help but notice his bottom lip trembling uncontrollably and the two stubborn tears that fell without his permission.
It's freezing in the hospital and smells of disinfectant. Her bare feet pad against the floor as she pushes past the doors. She can feel the previous numbness leaving her legs.
Calves burning from the performance and tired and unwilling to climb up the stairs.
Stairs because an elevator isn't fast enough.
~
There she was.
On the bed. A last beacon of light for the siblings. Her eyes emerald and flickering between dull and full of life.
"Mom..."
~~~
At 2:45 AM it was announced
Bellalona Mohinga took her last breath with her children Ajax Gunner Mohinga , aged 14, and Azazel Addanc Mohinga , aged 16, by her side effectively leaving them orphaned and in the hands of Andrews Mohinga their paternal uncle.
And the numbness that had been protecting Azazel left leaving her well aware of the pain that had been there.
~~~~~~
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Toilet_tissue was nice enough to do a commission for me so! Here's her interpretation of Ajax Gunner Mohinga
