life

I wirte this story, to practice my Englisch. I know, there are a lot of mistakes, but please, be lenient. ;)

Hello, my name is Veronica Scott. What I do? Dance. Since I am a little girl, I dance. There is nothing else into my head. It's my life. It's me. When I dance, I only can feel. I feel the exercises of my body. I feel the exercises of the music. The beating of my heart.

That's me. The dancer.

I open the eyes, like every morning. I stand up, like every morning. I think of my dream…like every morning.

It was wonderful. There was only me, the light and the music. I've closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the music. Like every night, I danced 'Der Nussknacker' from Hoffmann in my dream. It was the first dance, I've ever danced. I love it. I am a part of this song. Every night the same dream. Every night, it feels like a drug.
My…personal…drug.

I stand up and step in front of the big pier glass. My long, blond hairs stick out of my head and my eyes are surrounding of big grommets. My dreams also are beautifully, they also give me no end of trouble that way.

My first way is into the bathroom, where I step under the hot shower. The warm water makes me fine and my muscles relax themselves. I close my eyes and see it in front of me, again. The light, me, how I twist myself under the music. Yeah, I am addicted to that.

My toes hurt because of so much training and the shower helps them.

But there is no way – I have to train. I have to train, for my next appearance. Every dance I can handle is a trophy for me, a trophy for my soul. Swan Lake will be the next part of my collection.

I am part of the New York Dance School and Swan Lake is the number one for all of us dreaming girls. The whole school has applied for the role and I know that none of these stupid girls will play my swan. I become this. Me alone.

I just eat a bowl of cereal at breakfast. That's all, my body gets. I simply don't want to burden more on my body and one gets used to it with the time. It is half as bad.

The drive needs very long time and the passing, cold wall makes me crazy. The way is the worst. The fear is the worst.

I just can't buy an apartment in the middle of New York. So I live in a little, battered apartment out of New York City.

My mirror image looks at me out of cold eyes. Are the eyes the window to soul? My eyes are ice-cold.

I see the gigantic posters already far and imagine my face on this. Me, as the swan queen. I just have to master it, that others see my face on this.

I hear the voices of the changing cubicle and go away. We should paint our faces before the assay. Why? I don't know. And I don't do. I've never done that. I wear my costume and I don't need something else, just music.

Like on the keyword I hear the first notes of Tchaikovsky's masterpiece and enter the big hall. The soloists and Thomas are already there.

I look at a girl, sitting on the ground and tape her toes. Nina. The brave, little Nina.

I despise her, for being Thomas' angel, the small fragile Swan and anyway she does hard herself in everything she does. Swan Lake is an ardent dance and that's why I don't see her as a competitor. What she does has passion nothing in any way. Processes, plans, choreographies –everything masters her like in the sleep but she doesn't know what music is really. She doesn't know.

"Veronica, Lily!" Thomas shouts and looks happy. I see that another woman comes in here too. Lily. She is the counterpart of Nina, but almost not so inculpable like Nina.

I know what she thinks about Nina and she knows, what I think about Nina. We are the same and know that she is only a means to an end.

We are the Black Swan!