Today we spend some time with three woman, all embarking on
a new journey in their life, and one woman at the end of hers…
She held her breath, as the studio held the quiet, counting
the seconds in her head. One, two, three…
stretched en pointe, flawless balance…
hold it, hold it, keep position… perfect lines… yes, that’s it…
For a brief moment she felt elation. The pain, the sore
muscles, hours of practice, all melted away. Embodied in one unblemished
movement she saw her dream—Prima
Ballerina. Across her ambition and drive lay centre stage, the spotlight,
the faces of her audience.
Then the moment broke, and she returned to the practice
studio, rehearsing for another role in the chorus. But some day…
Sinyae stared in the gilded mirror. She made adjustments to
her diadem and headscarf, to her jewellery. Everything must be perfection when
she walked into the temple. Her bedroom door opened and her mother appeared.
“It is time.”
During the ceremony, Sinyae stood reverently, head bowed, proud
she ceased to be a daughter of her father’s house and embarked on to a new path.
She happily spoke her vows, smiling as the rites ended.
The officiating priestess placed a hand on Sinyae’s head.
“Welcome child, within the Temple of Isnanya. Blessings be upon you, novice,
newest Bride of the Goddess.
Warrior
Jai knelt at the altar, her head bowed. She grasped her
sword—a talisman thrust upright before her—both hands resting on the hilt. She
ignored the dirt in her hair, her bloodied face, and prayed.
“Give me strength for this last battle. Shore my weak spirit
that I may instill hope in my men, and so we can triumph over this evil, and
vanquish the enemy.”
Sunlight flickered through a grimy window to glint off the
metal of her armour. She smiled. A sign. She rose and walked from the church to
rally her men against the zombie hoard.
Out the Window
The old woman adjusted her frilled cap and smoothed the lace
on her dress as she settled in the chair by the window. She pulled her shawl
tighter about her shoulders and looked out to view the morning.
The lane and the adjacent common garden were empty, but she
knew that would change. Mr. Knowles would be along shortly to tend the rosebushes.
She chuckled.
Poor Mr. Knowles, such loyalty to your wife. Tending her roses
even though you believe she ran off with that sailor. I wonder if you ever suspected?
That I buried her under her precious roses.
No comments:
Post a Comment