Graveyard Grand Jete

The rotted stairs groaned as I slunk through the house. Clouds of dust swirled in the night air. My eyes could barely make out shapes from the drab interior, but I did not stumble. Slowly I picked my way through the house to the hidden staircase, Carrie trailing behind me.

The latch rasped as the tumblers freed the catch and the door jolted open. Squeaking slightly, the trapdoor opened and Carrie and I slipped out onto the roof. Moonlight striped us silver and illuminated the grime of centuries on top of the old house. And then I danced.

Forgetting the impending doom tomorrow would bring and how Madame would yell at the grit caked in my slippers. My arms floated high above my head as I flirted with the edge. Spinning closer and closer to the very edge of the roof I would leap and twirl with the night. Carrie whimpered, cowering against the chimney eyes widened with fright, pleading with me to come back.

It was getting late. I slipped off my shoes grabbing her hand I guided us out of the ancient house. We stole through the many backyards that separated The House from my own backyard. My heart thudded from the adrenaline rush and I shone. Carrie's face was mottled as she wheezed and clutched a stitch in her side.

We did not stay up talking after that, as we were wont to, but rather said goodnight and went to bed, for Carrie was to have her revenge tomorrow.

The sun pounded the concrete as Carrie and I stood in line waiting for our chance at stardom. Girls chattered incessantly while fixing their makeup and combing each other’s hair. The auditions were for a commercial and they only needed two girls. Carrie had convinced me to try out with her, insisting it would be fun and assuring me that we would both make the cut. I doubted it, at least about me.

Carrie’s name was called and she ascended smiling. She looked perfect as she pouted and simpered for the crowd. They were enchanted by her clever antics and laughed with her. Carrie curtsied and she sauntered off stage.

My chest itched as sweat trickled over my ribs. My turn. The stairs loomed above me as I tripped up onto the stage. Glaring lights greeted me with their sneers, and my hands shook as I desperately clutched at the microphone. Hours spent memorizing a monologue were for naught as my brain fried. My mouth moved, but no matter how hard I tried to speak no sound would come out. The silence mocked me, but the outbreak of cruel snickers was far worse.

Pursed lips, and a shake of the head signaled my release. I fled.

Carrie got the part; I didn’t want it. I had my paradise in the rotted furniture and lacey cobwebs that littered the deserted house. Ghosts of grandeur lingered when I danced Giselle for the paintings on the wall. Sometimes they clapped.