Prologue: The First Secret.

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The curtain rises.

She stands there,frozen. There’s too many people here. She can’t breathe,with every moment that passes the walls seem to close in upon her.

Slowly she raises herself,she is en pointe, on the very tips of her toes. She takes a deep breath as she shifts her gaze from the small depression in the floor in front of her to meet the eyes of those who rule her.

She is white. Pristine. Untouched. Pure.
She’s also as naive as they come. She keeps her head down and her mouth shut. She’s small,thin,with plain black hair that’s barely manageable on a good hair day. The math book is her best friend, a tawdry romance novel hidden beneath her mattress the closest thing to a romantic relation she has.
Not exactly someone who stands out in the crowd,she much prefers being backstage,keeping a low profile. It’s understandable really,this affliction to the limelight. It’s too harsh, too hot,and way more uncomfortable than anything should be.
And so she stays away from it. She remains in the shadows,seeing,hearing and observing.
And it’s okay with her. Until the day it’s not.

The big things in life don’t happen slowly and subtly,she realized. They’re more along the lines of a frying pan hitting your head out of nowhere. As a sidenote, go watch Tangled.  She realized she wanted more,what exactly she was looking for remains a mystery. But it most certainly wasn’t a lifetime of being a second choice or a wallflower. Beneath all the layers of defenses lay a captive soul,struggling for freedom. Struggling for a breath that wasn’t ragged and strenuous.

She raises her arms above her head,ready to begin. As the music begins to play, something clicks,like a long lost piece of a puzzle snapping into place with a resolute snap. She listens with her heart,eyes fluttering shut,she arches one way first and then the other. Her body has been through these motions a hundred times,it’s time for something different. Let it begin.

~~~*~~~

The first secret is to try,to begin,to just do something already.

***
Inspired by Beethoven’s 5 secrets. Part 1 of 5.

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The Writing Room.

I sit in a corner,leaning on a beige pillow,my beloved copy of Jane Eyre in my hands. It’s a small nook that’s more precious to me than any other material possession. It’s a small 6×6 feet loft with a simple mattress laid on the floor. The bright red sheet covering the mattress is off set by the numerous beige and wine red pillows scattered all around. The walls are lined with bookshelves,the scent of old,well-loved books with tattered spines heavy in the air. One wall contains books passed down by my grandfather,favoured by my father and cherished by me. The adjacent wall holds books I have added to an already extensive family collection.

On the other end of this wall is my corner. A simple enough place,a place that gives me somewhere to go when Reality is overwhelming.
A third wall holds stationery because on some days,you need an ink pen and creamy white paper to write upon. Rows upon rows of beautiful papers fill the shelves, but the third shelf from the bottom is different. It has a stack of midnight blue A4 sized sheets,a stack of envelopes, a wax stick, a stamp and a burner.
This shelf is where all dreams begin. It is meant for writing about only those things which are closest to your heart. Your soul is on those captivating blue sheets sealed in an envelope with wax and stamped with a beautiful filigree pattern. This is for mailing to a person who owns part of your soul.This is for reading on those days when it seems too much,too fast, too hard. This is to remind you that You can and You will. Because you once dared to dream.

The final 4th wall to complete this structure…does not exist. In it’s place is a full length window,opening to a regular city view. Rooftops and tall buildings in the distance,a tree outside the window,the road four flights down. The view reminds you that beauty and inspiration lies in the Everyday.

And finally to complete the vision, a typewriter on a table about a foot off the ground lies opposite to my corner,the 2 adjacent book walls. I see myslef sitting cross-legged in front of it,typing away for all I’m worth,Briony by Dario Marianelli playing softly in the background.