Soaring

Spring comes again and with it the chirping of sparrows and the soft rustling of cedar trees heavy with leaves that are green as jade. The old, two-story wooden house is nestled in a grove of trees; a faded coating of teal paint cakes the walls of the house with long cracks crisscrossingthem. Chips of paint edge the decay of the house into a picturesque look. A setting sun sinks in the horizon, tracing orange rays among the cedars and giving the house a second coat with its light. 

Facing the light, a lone window sits on the second floor wall covered only by a glass panel that has been broken on the bottom right corner; the remaining glass is caked by a thick layer of grey dust. She shyly peers outside from this opening, sun rays illuminating the lower half of her face. The sounds of the forest bring some serenity to her daily monotony. Her room is small and square with bare white walls. Pressed on one wall lies a small unmade bed with yellow sheets and a pillow. Opposite, rests a dark brown wood dresser, on top of it a tiny music box sits open with a small ballerina figurine resting in silence. The only other piece of furniture is a simple wicker chair that she sits on while looking outside the window. The light outside imprints a long shadow of her head on the floorboards. 

A simple black wool sweater with matching pants cover her body against the gathering chill while neat white locks of undulated hair cover both neck and shoulders. Copper skin bounces back some of the light, slightly warming it up. Her honey-colored eyes are wide and unfocused, looking at nothing in particular. One hand barely holds the window frame by the tip of slender fingers. 

One two three, one two three. She counts the steps, echoing on the empty stage, making sure she keeps her rhythm and form. They left a lone spot of light for her again. Everyone knows she takes the stage for herself when the ensemble is done rehearsing for the day. She prefers it this way, the stage is hers alone. It feels good to have space to move, that’s all she ever wants. Her feet kick the ground, propelling her into the air, gravity forgotten for the briefest of moments. She is free to soar endlessly. 

The sudden snapping sound of a branch drops her back into the small room. She looks around inside, confusion on her face, trying to reacquaintance herself with the space, while absentmindedly reaching down to her left calf, giving it a tight squeeze. Finally, her eyes turn back to outside the window, dusk is creeping into the forest as the last rays of light die.

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