A night out in Russia I watched as the snow fell in small droplets, like icy tears. It was as if St Petersburg was covered in a thick blanket of white, powdery crystals. I saw the thousands of carriages crowded around The Kremlin Ballet Theatre as small groups of about what everyone had told me six months earlier. “She can’t do it,” they said. “She’s not strong enough.” I felt a chill in my stomach as I remembered the night it all went wrong, the night everyone stopped believing in me. It was a night just like this one, full of chatter and excited dancers. I leapt out on to the stage, the lights blinding me as I pirouetted like a tornado. But on the last turn of my final move, the devilishly difficult horses neighed and whinnied impatiently. People from all over the world greeted dear friends with a hug or kiss on the cheek. As I peeked through the red velvet curtains, I noticed that the reception room was packed as
fouetté, I fell. It was all a blur to me. When I asked Madame Lilia what happened, she said that I had tumbled from the stage and fallen unconscious. “I was so scared for you,” she said. The memory of that night made me feel sick, especially when I remembered being shoved in the tiny carriage taking me to the hospital. I shivered when I thought of the pain in my legs and a longing to be on stage again, not watching everyone else dance. Suddenly, I knew what to do. I snuck out of bed, wrapped in my nightgown with a candle in one hand and my ballet slippers in the other. Then, I slipped out of the huge, oak doors, took one look at the lake in front of me and was reminded of that terrible night. We had performed “Swan Lake”, and I remembered the beautiful mere in the background. Then I played the famous waltz in my head and danced my steps from the night it all went wrong. Except, this time, I finished it.
everyone filed into the main theatre. There were dimly lit lamps lighting up the room. The walls were covered in painted roses as red as apples. Backstage, dancers were chattering about their roles, excited about staying up late. I felt my heart beating in my throat as the butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Finally, the lights turned down and the audience fell silent. The curtain began to rise… As I stepped on the stage, I closed my eyes, and the memories came flooding back. My first steps, when I danced in the kitchen. The ballet show I went to, oh how my legs ached to join the dancers on stage and piroutte along. When I left the stage, my teacher, Madame Lilia, asked me how I felt. “Wonderful,” said I. “So did I darling,” she said “so did I.” As I lay in bed that night, I thought
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