The Dance

This is a little tidbit that I wrote while bored in my English Literature class, and I thought that I would share. It doesn’t have anything to do with any scene starters or anything like that.

The words, the music, the dancing–it was all too much. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over the pounding in my head. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I tripped and stumbled my way out of the gym, out of the building. I could feel the tears streaming down my face uncontrollably; my hiccups were escaping between sobs as I struggled to maintain any form of composure. I didn’t need this. I didn’t need the mockery. Effectively, I could hear the uproarious echoes of everyone behind me.

I grasped desperately onto the railing, sounding like a dying mule, and before I knew it I was sitting awkwardly on the sidewalk, the light yellow of my dress stained with the slush of the snow at the hem, as I heaved and cried. I held myself, comforted myself, rocking myself back and forth, and I felt like this wasn’t real–that I was in some nightmarish hell of a dream and at any moment I would start awake, leaping out of my bed as my brother pounded on my door. But, no. This was all real, and the one time I don’t want it to be real, it is.

I couldn’t think. All I could do was feel, remember, and hurt as I cried waterfalls–oceans. I thought my night would be great–the one chance that I would actually get to be a person that stood out, but all the same it ended up with me hurt. I was stupid and naive for thinking that I could even have a remote speck of a fairytale, and I was paying a ruthless price for it.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but I guess it was long enough that I didn’t even realize my best friend was hugging me and rocking me, staining his suit. I wanted to feel bad that I was ruining his night, too, but there was just too much I was feeling at the moment. Eventually, my sobbing died down and I regained some form of cognition–of consciousness.

Wordlessly, Jake helped me stand up again, before he pulled me into one of his aggressive bear hugs. I noted that he was wearing my favorite cologne, and it didn’t take me long to understand that, amongst everything, he was the one who walked away from a good time to comfort me. I buried my face into his shoulder, because right now that was all I could think to do, and all he did was hold me, and brush my hair, and wipe some of the dried tear stains off my cheeks. When he pulled his hand back, I saw a black smudge on his thumb, letting me know that my mascara had run just like it did in the movies.

And despite every bit of nightmare that my night had become, I would always remember the kindness that my best friend showed me.

About writethisdownnow

Bibliophile; avid writer Biology major studying veterinary medicine.
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