A THICK LAYER of unnaturally gray dust coated the studio, a reminder of the decay and horror that now coated the world. Instead of silken pointe shoes, she strode across the wooden floor in black boots scuffed raw from use. Glass crunched underfoot; it might have come from the broken window, the window she had always gazed out of during class or rehearsal, or the broken mirror. Thirteen years of bad luck seemed a hollow threat given the circumstances. Images flashed through her mind of tulle and the heat of the spotlights on stage, the sweat of a challenging class, toes rubbed raw, strains of tinny piano music as rows of girls pushed to perfect their bodies beyond the breaking point. They had all eventually been broken, just not in the ways they had expected.
She ran a hand across the wooden barre, a layer of dust sloughing off. The ghosts of girls who had placed their hands on that exact spot over all of those years made her shiver. Or maybe it was the draft from the broken window. She placed her feet in first position, her joints protesting as she plied. Her body, once used to bending into strong and graceful shapes now only knew the toil of survival. She moved through second, third, fourth, and fifth position as she stretched her wrecked and weary body. She tried to create gentleness and beauty, as much as she could, in spite of the world ending outside.
“Babe, it’s almost time to go.”
She jumped, jolted out of her movement, her reverie.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Liam apologized.
“You’re fine. I just got caught up.”
“You look good. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you dance.”
“I doubt I’ll ever see this studio again,” she replied.
The two stood in heavy silence for a moment.
“I found some stuff in the storage room. Bottled water mainly, but I also found some granola bars and a first aid kit,” Liam finally said.
“At least it wasn’t a wasted trip.”
He shook his head. “This was important to you.”
“This was stupid. The world is ending and people are dying and I wanted to come play ballerina for an hour. Relive my glory days,” she vented.
“You wanted to go somewhere you felt safe. Somewhere you were happy.”
She looked into the mirror, her reflection fragmented by the cracked and broken glass.
“Everyone had their theories about how the world was going to end. Disease, nukes, war, famine, natural disasters, zombies. The thing was, no one thought it actually would end,” she said turning to face Liam.
In the end it hadn’t been just one thing that had caused the end of everything; it had been a combination. Seeing their city, the streets empty, the buildings collapsing, everything dingy and dirty where once it had been clean and shining with promise, still felt surreal. The dire news reports and the series of tragic global events had brought a swift end to her ballet career and Liam’s teaching career. And they both saw their lives shattered as people were lost and hope and joy were replaced by fear and dread.
“We still have each other. That’s more than a lot of people can say,” Liam said after a moment.
“It’s true. If I lost you, I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Liam asked.
“Live.”
The two stood, eyes locked. His dark brown eyes that had stared into hers for years, that held moments of love, of triumph, of passion, of despair.
“Time’s almost up. We have to go,” Liam said gently.
“Please, I need another minute.”
Liam nodded, turning to walk away.
“Wait, don’t leave me,” she said, suddenly desperate.
“It’s ok. We’ll see each other soon.”
She stepped towards him, pulling him in for a kiss. She felt the warmth of his lips on hers, the familiar comfort of his body pressed close. She could almost imagine they were in their apartment, in the time before, sharing a kiss after a long day of work.
She watched as he left the room. The shadows seemed to lengthen. She shakily made her way back towards the barre, and slumped to the floor. Something was wrong. She pulled off her jacket, soaked with sweat. No not sweat.
It was blood.
She was chilled. She felt no pain. But she felt panic.
“Liam,” she cried out.
But Liam wasn’t there. No one was there. It all came back in fragmented memories as distorted and jagged as the broken mirror.
Another long night searching for food. Going into the old building. The shaking of another earthquake. Liam on top of her, desperate to shield her. The sounds of breaking and shattering and the pressure of the ceiling caving in. Being unable to move, to breathe. Watching with numb horror as Liam bled out, sharing one desperate last cold kiss. Her own wound sluggishly bleeding. Freeing herself from the wreckage. Walking through the night, across the city, to the studio.
You wanted to go somewhere you felt safe. Somewhere you were happy.
Tears traced wet tracks through the dust and grime on her face as she desperately pulled herself up. She laid her left hand on the barre closing her eyes.
Instead of boots she wore pointe shoes. Instead of the sound of wind whistling through a broken window she heard piano music. Instead of dust there was rosin. Instead of a blood-soaked jacket she wore a blue leotard.
The world wasn’t ending, Liam waited for her at the apartment, her body wasn’t a vessel of survival, but a tool for beauty and art.
She smiled as the warmth of the memories of the studio, and what it had been, what her life had been, surrounded her.
“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered as she slumped against the barre and gave in to the darkness at the edge of her vision.
— HEATHER PFEFFER
Heather Pfeffer is a Western North Carolina native. She has a BA in Literature from UNCA and a MA in Writing from LRU. Her work has been published in Gemini Magazine. Her hobbies include crocheting, ballet, and spending time with her many animals. She loves exploring the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and speculative fiction and exploring tough topics like death, love, and what it means to be human.