Inktober prompt six: Ogre

In the dark theatre, the stone seats chilled many a ballet enthusiast to the bone. Behind the heavy maroon curtains, a short, lean young woman pulled a pair of silver tights up over her muscular legs. 

“Crima! You’re on in two darling, get up there!” The lanky, middle aged man leaned into the dressing room as she pulled on a black leotard.

“Yes sir, Master Swan, I am nearly ready,” She pulled on next, a thick structured tutu the color of melted stars in which, if you look from above, gave the impression of a crying full moon, with diamonds dangling from the underside of the tutu perfectly displaying the moon’s grief. Her feet curved habitually as she slipped on a pair of ballet shoes and wrapped her calves in black satin. She turned and exited her dressing room, passing older girls who glared at her as much as they could from inside their star costumes. Quickening her pace, she arrived at the edge of the stage just as the music began. In complete darkness, she glided onto the stage and positioned a little off-centered on the scuffed wooden floor. Lowering her head, the music started to swell and she closed her eyes knowing at that very moment, the curtains were folding in on themselves and revealing her woeful figure to the audience. The theatre was held in a breath of expectation and as the violins came in, she arched her back and sighed.  Her legs were metal and her heart concrete. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Master Swan shooting a glare as if daring her to leave the stage and risk turning back into the hideous green monster he had saved her from. She took another deep breath, slowly rose onto pointe and, raising one foot behind her, she bent and touched the floor with the tip of one finger. The crowd was suspended in a seemingly permanent state of silent anticipation. Her piled hair held fast on the top of her head as she rose again and melted into a fondu. Gaining energy along with the music, she pushed her momentum into her movements and sweat stuck to her neck as she grabbed the air and pulled herself toward the front of the stage, the strings of diamonds wrapped her legs and laced along her thighs, clicking and bouncing off of each other as she moved. Bent in a dramatic show of heartbreak, she locked eyes with an entranced toddler, the girl’s skin was olive green and her dark brown hair was tied in a messy bun, as if done up in a desperate attempt to look identical to Crima’s own. The girl’s eyes stood out like newly polished fine china, tears were now running down the child’s face, shining silver against her green skin. Crima froze in her bent position and stared into the girl’s eyes, the concrete around her heart seemed to shatter and fall away as the emotions in the child’s eyes cried to her. The pure, eager, unbridled wonderment and admiration reached out to Crima, but strongest of all was the discomfort, knowing how other people in the theatre were casting indiscreet glances at her as if to pressure her into leaving so they could enjoy the show with their own “normal” kin who bore the “right” skin tone. Crima snapped straight and spun, exiting the stage, behind the edge of the curtain, she glared at Master Swan who watched in horror and disgust as green spread from under her leotard and swept up her neck, her eyes blazed to life, speckled gold and her smile was finally natural. As she leapt back onto the stage, the crowd gasped and everyone jerked to their feet and fled the theater along with Master Swan, everyone, that is, except the little girl sitting on the bench closest to the stage. Tears now gushed in torrents down her face, Crima gestured her up to the stage and the girl sat like a statue for a second, before bolting up to the stage and heaving herself onto it. Once the girl was at her side, Crima nodded to the conductor in the pit who also had tears gleaming on his face. Two of the musicians had left in disgust but the others stayed and all started to play when the conductor’s baton started waving it in precise, meaningful gestures. Crima looked at the girl to confirm that she recognized the music, a piece that she herself had choreographed her first dance to, the very dance that had made her famous. Crima and the girl stretched their hands out in front of them and arched their backs in perfect unison, and together they flew through the dance, floating and contorting. Crima came to the last move and she glanced at the girl as she knelt and bent over forward, pressing her hands to the floor. The girl stepped gently up onto Crima’s back and balanced, tiptoeing up to her shoulder as Crima slowly rose till her back was straight. The girl held her hands out and Crima took a firm hold on them as she stood up, solid as a tree trunk. As soon as Crima was standing and once she nodded, the girl adjusted her grip and pushed off of Crima’s shoulder. Arching her legs to keep balance as she was supported on Crima’s palms above the floor, pooled in the spotlight, breathing steadily. Finally she stopped shaking and tapped Crima’s wrist with her finger to indicate she was ready to do the last step of the dance. 

Crima took a deep breath and murmured, “Okay,” Then, “Go!” She bent and pushed up forcefully on the girls hands to give her the momentum she needed to flip in the air and land safely. Time seemed to slow as the girl flipped twice, her eyes concentrated, and yet, filled with such wholesome, unquenchable joy. 

Thud.

Crima sucked in a breath, her lungs ached from a lack of oxygen, and her eyes focused on the girl standing a good few feet in front of her, grinning, and panting hard. Her trembling arms raised above her head with elegance and a newfound confidence radiating from her movements.

“Wow.” Crima breathed, and then the adrenaline hit and she raised her voice almost to a shriek, “WOW. That was amazing!” 

The girl giggled and Crima’s eyes looked her over, her toned arms and legs showed that she was not new to ballet, and yet she had a streetsmart air about her, her loose, grey tanktop hung breezily around her stocky frame and her beaten sneakers which looked like they long ago had begged for repair but gave up after a few decades. Crima stretched one leg out to the girl, “Here, I can not reach it due to my tutu, but please, take the slipper off.” 

The girl complied and unlaced the ribbon, and then the other. Crima stretched her sore feet.

“Keep them,” Crima told her, the girl’s eyes got wide and she shook her head, “Oh, Miss Crima, I couldn’t, you should keep them so you can wear them at your next show.” The argument was pitiful and Crima chuckled, “They're yours, and you can call me Master Crima now. Meet me at the ballet studio on Prinick Avenue tomorrow at 7 am. Can you do that?”

“Does 6 work?” The girl hiccuped.

“It sure does, see you tomorrow.” Crima smiled and squeezed the astonished girl’s shoulders, leaving her there to watch the woman who looked just like her, the ogre who had just given her a new chance in life, walk away, the candles casting a warm, soft glow on her green skin. And Crima no longer felt concrete in her heart or metal in her legs, she just felt…free.             

The End

P.S

 I have not posted an Inktober story in a while, I was really not looking forward to editing this one, but tonight, I finally forced myself to. I hope you enjoyed!! <3