The DancerHe was never good at dancing, felt like he was born with two left feet. He was always tripping over air, or stepping on his partner.The Dancer4 hours ago in Short Stories
She was good at dancing, her parents made sure of that. Put her through the toughest dance classes, the best dance schools. Dance was her life. She lived at the studio, breathed the sweat that poured off her skin, felt the pain in her feet after every success and fail. She hated it.
He loved it, but couldn’t do it. He could only watch from afar as his sister danced her way through the top schools in the country.
She could see her brother from the sidelines, watching her with a look of pride and sadness. She hated it, just wanted to be an equal to her brother.
He wished their parents gave him as much interest as they gave her. But they didn’t. They didn’t care when his band got a regular gig at the cafe in town. Didn’t care when their song was played in school. Didn’t care when he broke his leg saving his friend from a car. Di