Her tattered and faded tutu was worn with difficulty as her once almost-perfect ballerina body shrunk through the ages. It kept slipping and slipping from her waist but she thought of a remedy – tying it with a thin dilapidated belt. She watched her reflection on this very wide mirror as she tried to place her old, dusty and broken tiara on her head just like the old times. She smiled on her reflection not because she knew she looked ridiculous and out of place but because nostalgia took her in an instant.
She was once a ballerina. Young, beautiful and carefree. Her audience loved the way she executed her every moves and she loved the way her body responded to every execution she made. The hundreds of bouquets she received after her every performance gave her so much thrill and pride and she showed her appreciation through her famous graceful and prolonged bow. The stage was her home, her world and her sanctuary. But that world was long gone. It belonged to somebody else now.
For the umpth time, she adjusted her tutu and her tiara. She stared at her reflection and tried to keep that smile. And then she started to dance...just like the old times.
