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Description
for V

The hall was filled to the brim with excited, chattering people. It was dark, save for a few small lights adorning the edge of the stage. The crimson curtains that draped the scene loomed quietly and expectantly, like the silence in her heart. The resonance of the place made the smallest comment sound like the murmuring of a group. But, she couldn't really process any of it. It was like how after you've stood in a forest for long enough, the humming of the insects and the bird calls start to fade into the background. This moment was like that for her, but also not quite like that. In that forest, you would feel at peace. The silence would be welcome, comforting even. But, this silence- the one in her head - was of a different kind. More of a menacing silence. The silence that comes when the blade of the guillotine almost comes down on someone's neck. It was that kind of choking yet anticipatory silence. She sat with her arms on the chair's sides and relaxed her back, attempting to act nonchalant and disinterested, but her heart raced.
The curtains slowly parted to give way to the next performance of the night. Tonight was suppose to be an night of enjoyment, a variety show-like program for the students of the school. There was singing and dancing, presentations by the students themselves; it was an event held to strengthen camaraderie and provide an avenue for talents. This was all well and good for the people who had these particular talents - they led the other not-so-talented ones along. Of course, the 'followers' were thankful to have leaders but there's a yearning in them. A yearning to somehow stand toe to toe with these special, talented people. The yearning to be looked up to, to be irreplaceable, only grows despite knowing that these dreams would never come to pass. These dreams are crushed by the very people that birthed them. No, they are crushed by reality. They remain dreams, until they are gradually buried in the ashes of yesterday. But, these reasons aren't related to why our spectator is so anxious. The spotlight gradually strengthened on the stage, revealing a group of people in black jackets, standing in rows and casting shadows.
The music began to play. It was a hip-hop song, the notes racing each other across space. The people on stage came alive with smooth, drifting movements, as if they were puppets and the music were their puppet master. They slid swiftly to different positions, to different directions, and yet still moved with synchronicity. Every movement of hand and foot and waist exploded with vibrance and energy, and smiles lit up their faces. They were all very good dancers certainly, but the girl was watching one person particularly. She took on the most normal posture she could muster, but she still couldn't help but to lean forward. Just a little. She watched intently. He probably doesn't even remember her, but she remembered him very clearly. Maybe even too clearly. It was a fine day many years before that night when she first laid eyes upon him. It wasn't especially romantic or sweet, not on a balcony or in a ballroom. It was in a regular empty classroom.
She had forgotten something, and had come back to get it, when she was met with a surprising sight. There he stood at the window, a schoolmate she didn't recognize, the golden, glinting sunset pouring radiance onto him. His eyes were fixated upon something outside the window, the clouds? The mountains? She paused, and the world seemed to be on pause along with her. Was he even that handsome? Was there something about the way he was standing that was so enthralling? Her heartbeat was so distinct, it was drumming in her ears, and she stood frozen at the door of the classroom. He turned around quietly and looked at the girl, who was suddenly conscious of the disproportionately long time she hasn't moved an inch.
"Hi," he said, cracking a smile.
"Hello," she stammers. "I was just um-- getting my--" she rattled on.
She laughed nervously. "What was it that I forgot again?" He looks at her with a puzzled look, his thick eyebrows forming an angle.
"But, um, you're not a first year are you?" She ventured to ask.
"Ah, right. I'm not from the same year as you. Sorry for invading your classroom!" He responds, a bit embarrassed.
"I forgot to introduce myself. I'm --" he stretches out his hand for a handshake, when someone calls from the hallway.
"All right! Coming!" he says.
Facing her once again, he tells her: "Well, see you around."
And just as sudden as the beginning of their encounter was, it ended. The girl was left in the empty classroom, the light of the sunset slowly ebbing away, but the magic of the moment still fresh in her mind. Since then, they had barely seen each other, but she had uncovered some things about him. One, that he was incredibly good at dancing and two, that he had recently found a girlfriend. It was terrible, really. No, she herself was the terrible one. She snapped back to the present, watching him dance confidently on stage. Next to him was an alluring young woman, dancing gracefully yet jauntily. Her energy was infectious and watching her made you feel full of life's joy. Honestly, the spectator knew that girl quite well. You could even say they were close, and they still are. That's why the girl watching the performance thought her own self was so terrible. Because, in spite of how important that girl on stage was to her, she couldn't bring herself to be happy for her. Not since that girl became his girlfriend.
She knew. The girl watching the performance knew how cliche this was. How incredibly childish she was to have hung on to this dream, about someday being able to sit with him and spend more time with him. Maybe even become important to him. Maybe someday he would think about her as much as she thought about him. But, she thought to give herself a break for keeping such childish tendencies, because she knew it would never happen. That's why she thought that it was okay. It was okay to at least keep dreaming about it. Couldn't she at least have that? That was how people handled things that they couldn't accept. They take shelter in their own happy-places, and pretend that the storm will pass soon, when in reality, the storm will continue indefinitely.
The boy and girl on stage began to perform a dance routine as a pair, fluidly maneuvering the stage, perfectly in tune with each other's movements. Our observer bites her lip, pangs of something rising up within her. It wasn't her fault, she thought. It couldn't be her fault that she doesn't have that kind of talent. God knows how hard she's tried to somehow creep closer to where he is, like a vine inching towards the canopy of a forest, but it just wasn't enough. Eventually, the vine reaches a height that isn't conducive to its growth and it simply gives up, aware of its limits. Sure, her own weakness may have been a part of it, but she knows herself, what she can and cannot do. It just so happened that this one thing that could get her closer to him was something she couldn't do. She had thought many times about forgetting this feeling altogether, but it just crept back quietly. Like a weed. Every time she saw him. It was like a weed, blossoming with the most beautiful flowers. After a while, she thought to keep it. It didn't matter if it would never be requited.
Before she knew it, the performance had ended and the thunderous clapping of the crowd gradually penetrated her internal silence. She began to clap slowly, as if there were something between her palms that she had to crush. Something that kept recoiling every time she put her hands together. Something with sharp, jagged edges. It was hard to clap. It was painful, but she clapped anyway.

---end

Description
for V

The hall was filled to the brim with excited, chattering people. It was dark, save for a few small lights adorning the edge of the stage. The crimson curtains that draped the scene loomed quietly and expectantly, like the silence in her heart. The resonance of the place made the smallest comment sound like the murmuring of a group. But, she couldn't really process any of it. It was like how after you've stood in a forest for long enough, the humming of the insects and the bird calls start to fade into the background. This moment was like that for her, but also not quite like that. In that forest, you would feel at peace. The silence would be welcome, comforting even. But, this silence- the one in her head - was of a different kind. More of a menacing silence. The silence that comes when the blade of the guillotine almost comes down on someone's neck. It was that kind of choking yet anticipatory silence. She sat with her arms on the chair's sides and relaxed her back, attempting to act nonchalant and disinterested, but her heart raced.
The curtains slowly parted to give way to the next performance of the night. Tonight was suppose to be an night of enjoyment, a variety show-like program for the students of the school. There was singing and dancing, presentations by the students themselves; it was an event held to strengthen camaraderie and provide an avenue for talents. This was all well and good for the people who had these particular talents - they led the other not-so-talented ones along. Of course, the 'followers' were thankful to have leaders but there's a yearning in them. A yearning to somehow stand toe to toe with these special, talented people. The yearning to be looked up to, to be irreplaceable, only grows despite knowing that these dreams would never come to pass. These dreams are crushed by the very people that birthed them. No, they are crushed by reality. They remain dreams, until they are gradually buried in the ashes of yesterday. But, these reasons aren't related to why our spectator is so anxious. The spotlight gradually strengthened on the stage, revealing a group of people in black jackets, standing in rows and casting shadows.
The music began to play. It was a hip-hop song, the notes racing each other across space. The people on stage came alive with smooth, drifting movements, as if they were puppets and the music were their puppet master. They slid swiftly to different positions, to different directions, and yet still moved with synchronicity. Every movement of hand and foot and waist exploded with vibrance and energy, and smiles lit up their faces. They were all very good dancers certainly, but the girl was watching one person particularly. She took on the most normal posture she could muster, but she still couldn't help but to lean forward. Just a little. She watched intently. He probably doesn't even remember her, but she remembered him very clearly. Maybe even too clearly. It was a fine day many years before that night when she first laid eyes upon him. It wasn't especially romantic or sweet, not on a balcony or in a ballroom. It was in a regular empty classroom.
She had forgotten something, and had come back to get it, when she was met with a surprising sight. There he stood at the window, a schoolmate she didn't recognize, the golden, glinting sunset pouring radiance onto him. His eyes were fixated upon something outside the window, the clouds? The mountains? She paused, and the world seemed to be on pause along with her. Was he even that handsome? Was there something about the way he was standing that was so enthralling? Her heartbeat was so distinct, it was drumming in her ears, and she stood frozen at the door of the classroom. He turned around quietly and looked at the girl, who was suddenly conscious of the disproportionately long time she hasn't moved an inch.
"Hi," he said, cracking a smile.
"Hello," she stammers. "I was just um-- getting my--" she rattled on.
She laughed nervously. "What was it that I forgot again?" He looks at her with a puzzled look, his thick eyebrows forming an angle.
"But, um, you're not a first year are you?" She ventured to ask.
"Ah, right. I'm not from the same year as you. Sorry for invading your classroom!" He responds, a bit embarrassed.
"I forgot to introduce myself. I'm --" he stretches out his hand for a handshake, when someone calls from the hallway.
"All right! Coming!" he says.
Facing her once again, he tells her: "Well, see you around."
And just as sudden as the beginning of their encounter was, it ended. The girl was left in the empty classroom, the light of the sunset slowly ebbing away, but the magic of the moment still fresh in her mind. Since then, they had barely seen each other, but she had uncovered some things about him. One, that he was incredibly good at dancing and two, that he had recently found a girlfriend. It was terrible, really. No, she herself was the terrible one. She snapped back to the present, watching him dance confidently on stage. Next to him was an alluring young woman, dancing gracefully yet jauntily. Her energy was infectious and watching her made you feel full of life's joy. Honestly, the spectator knew that girl quite well. You could even say they were close, and they still are. That's why the girl watching the performance thought her own self was so terrible. Because, in spite of how important that girl on stage was to her, she couldn't bring herself to be happy for her. Not since that girl became his girlfriend.
She knew. The girl watching the performance knew how cliche this was. How incredibly childish she was to have hung on to this dream, about someday being able to sit with him and spend more time with him. Maybe even become important to him. Maybe someday he would think about her as much as she thought about him. But, she thought to give herself a break for keeping such childish tendencies, because she knew it would never happen. That's why she thought that it was okay. It was okay to at least keep dreaming about it. Couldn't she at least have that? That was how people handled things that they couldn't accept. They take shelter in their own happy-places, and pretend that the storm will pass soon, when in reality, the storm will continue indefinitely.
The boy and girl on stage began to perform a dance routine as a pair, fluidly maneuvering the stage, perfectly in tune with each other's movements. Our observer bites her lip, pangs of something rising up within her. It wasn't her fault, she thought. It couldn't be her fault that she doesn't have that kind of talent. God knows how hard she's tried to somehow creep closer to where he is, like a vine inching towards the canopy of a forest, but it just wasn't enough. Eventually, the vine reaches a height that isn't conducive to its growth and it simply gives up, aware of its limits. Sure, her own weakness may have been a part of it, but she knows herself, what she can and cannot do. It just so happened that this one thing that could get her closer to him was something she couldn't do. She had thought many times about forgetting this feeling altogether, but it just crept back quietly. Like a weed. Every time she saw him. It was like a weed, blossoming with the most beautiful flowers. After a while, she thought to keep it. It didn't matter if it would never be requited.
Before she knew it, the performance had ended and the thunderous clapping of the crowd gradually penetrated her internal silence. She began to clap slowly, as if there were something between her palms that she had to crush. Something that kept recoiling every time she put her hands together. Something with sharp, jagged edges. It was hard to clap. It was painful, but she clapped anyway.

---end