Black Swan John Mckenzie Writing Competition Runner-up December 1958 Music trickled through her veins .
Luminous stage lights basked her in their eerie white glow .
The glimmering , perfectly polished stage felt alive underneath the dancer ’ s feet - she could feel it buzzing with anticipation . The smell of sweat and hairspray lingered in the air . Soft and jubilant , the melody of piano and violin as it took control of her body , limbs effortlessly moving in and out of the positions she had been practising for what felt like an eternity . The dancer was immersed in the music , no longer human , but a delicate force of nature twirling across the stage - a force to be reckoned with . Everything from the tips of the fingers to the ends of the toes came alive as she talked to the audience in the one language she found comfortable using ; dance . Thoughts , as if weighted raindrops in a sudden storm , fell upon the dancer ; the moment when she pulled on a pair of brand-new ballet shoes at the age of nine ; a skeletonthin mother , emptying a purse of coins to pay for the bus trip to the studio ; a fatigued father , coming home exhausted after working extra shifts to pay for the lessons . All that a family went without for their daughter to pursue a dream .
This was it . This was her moment .
She was enveloped in an overwhelming sense of belonging as the harmonic blend of instruments began to speed up - an unusual feeling for someone like her , someone who had become accustomed to being the ‘ odd one out ’. Someone who was of a ‘ lower degree ’. Someone who could ‘ never be enough ’.
Someone who had dark skin .
Dancing as if life itself depended on it , her arms and legs were a flurry of dark and light , skin and costume . Her chest felt electric , a charge of current travelling up and down the spine . Beaming out into the audience , she positioned herself in the corner of the lustrous stage , and on the beat was propelled into a dazzling combination of leaps and spins . Exhilaration surged through her . The audience was silent with awe , mouths open and eyes wide . They were absorbed as she twirled continuously on the spot , balancing only on the tip of a toe . Around and around she went until the music stopped , posing in an ending stance , a perfect portrait of grace and elegance . Hidden from those watching were the countless hours spent practising in the studio , the blistered and bloodied toes concealed beneath the gleaming ballet shoes , and the sleepless nights filled with nerves before the audition . All those times she had been called a “ brownie ” or “ alligator bait ” were forgotten as the music took the flowing branch-like limbs across the stage .
Suddenly , fleetingly , there was a stillness . It lasted , probably , less than a second . Then the theatre erupted . The noise was phenomenal - louder than the music that preceded it . Individuals began to stand , clapping ferociously , and before long the whole crowd was on their feet , their hands a blur of noise . She recalled those many other dancers , from young girls to young women . The barely hidden looks of disdain , the passing comments , the knowing glances , the subtle but powerful reminders that she was different .
Different to them . But that was the past . They were , she realised , irrelevant to her life now .
The realisation of what had been achieved consumed her . It was done . What they thought couldn ’ t be done . She had proven them wrong .
Jean Sharpe , Year 11
The Spotlight John Mckenzie Writing Competition Highly Commended
Beady little eyes Pointed like lasers Unblinking Staring straight at you
The tworld spins Feeling nauseous Everyone ’ s attention on you
Opinions drill holes in your mind Some good Most bad Too many to count Not asked for , not always voiced All directed at you
Many whispers blur Buzz round & round A chaotic mess of wonderful and harsh sounds
The centre of attention Truly a terrifying place
Isla Prins , Year 12 Ablaze
Little hooves planted into the soft forest ground and leaped off again , crunching autumn brown leaves in the process . A small young fawn darted over knobby roots and dodged tall native tree trunks while a gentle warm breeze flowed with him . The fawn kept cantering until he recognised the familiar scent of his mother mixed with the earthy forest smell . He followed it until he came across her feeding in a clearing where the trees decided to not grow and let the afternoon sun sink in .
He fed on the grass by her side until the sky glowed a pastel orange and pink , signaling the end of the day . Quickly the forest darkened and the trees became slim black monsters as their branches reached in different directions . The air was now cold and icy as the sun had left with its warmth . The fawn shivered and curled up with his mother as she nested in the middle of the clearing . His mothers heat was comforting enough for him to drift into sleep .
The fawn ’ s eyes were closed but his consciousness was waking up . He felt heat but not his mothers presence . Now the fawn had fully awoken and opened his eyes to see the clearing surrounded by fiery orange blaze and his mother nowhere to be seen . The poor fawn panicked and jumped to its feet , eyes wide . Luckily he spotted a small opening and did not hesitate to leap over the smaller flames before they grew .
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