Five Card Story: Dancing in pink

stories: prev | random | next

a Five Card Flickr story by evelyn68 created Jun 09 2018, 06:47:20 am. Create a new one!


flickr photo credits: (1) bionicteaching (2) bionicteaching (3) bionicteaching (4) bionicteaching (5) Serenae


about this story

Rebecca was nine and she was the youngest daughter of a family of five girls. She was good at all sorts of things…. She could cook really good cakes with delicious pink strawberry flavoured icing, she could do somersaults on the trampoline at the bottom of the garden, she could run races on a skateboard, and she could read adventure books till the cows came home. But there was one thing that she could not do and she wanted to be able to do it…and that was to dance. Her mother said that dancing was just like skateboarding but without the board, her father said that dancing was like doing somersaults and running races and her sister said, ‘Well, why don’t you learn how to dance?” Rebecca said she was shy because she wouldn’t be much good and people would look at her and laugh, and that made her sister laugh, because she said ’When you baked your first cake, it was all wet and soggy and collapsed but it tasted good and you never gave up. And now you are a whizz cake baker!” and she laughed again, “And when you first went on a skate board you fell over heaps and you never gave up, and now you win races, even with the boy next door!” Rebecca thought about this and decided her sister was right.
She found a place where she could learn how to dance and she queued up for an interview. She was terribly nervous and stared at her hands and tried not to worry. She thought about the colour pink, and about her cat Mixie and she thought about icing a Black Forest chocolate cake and decorating it with cherries. In fact she was thinking so much about how delicious the cake might taste that for a moment she didn’t hear her name called. “Rebecca West? Rebecca?” In she went and the woman asked her why she wanted to do ballet, and asked her to show her what she could already do. Rebecca hadn’t realised it was ballet dancing. She thought it was going to be something more lively like Country dancing or even Irish dancing. Rebecca didn’t know any dance moves. She become tongue tied and felt as stiff as the nut cracker man painted on the telegraph pole at the corner of her street. And she ran out of the room.
She felt very bad. She felt sorry for herself. She went to the park and sat under a tree and cried a little bit. Then she saw a small blue bird on the branch above her. It had black beady eyes, and legs so thin you could hardly see them and yet it was so able and nimble with those tiny little legs. Her beak was a shiny orange colour and she seemed to be gathering material for a nest. There was a piece off fluffy pink wool that the bird had its eye on, but the piece of pink wool was caught on a branch and the bird tugged and tugged and tugged and tugged even more . Just when Rebecca thought she would need to help, the wool came free. Rebecca stopped crying, and rubbed her nose and wiped away the snot and was suddenly aware of the smell of onions. She looked around and was surprised to see that the rubbish bin beside her had all sorts of strange things in it. There were two whole onions, and there was shampoo and hand cream and there was also a piece of paper with something pink on it. She pulled the paper out and uncurled it and there was a picture of a young Native American woman doing a dance around a totem pole. And there at the bottom of the page was a box of information… there was a class right now and it was only two blocks away in Becks Green Hall and Rebecca suddenly knew that this was what she wanted to do. She ran and hopped and skipped and bounced until she reached the door of the hall and almost collided with another girl with long brown hair who was also breathless with running not to be late. And so they went into the class together and that was how Rebecca became a dancer in the Native American tradition and how she made a friend and also discovered that she had Native American blood in her family. Sometimes when she was older and in her garden she would notice some tiny little beetle chewing away at a huge leaf, a hundred times its own size, and she would remember how she had watched the little bird struggling…and winning… with the piece of pink wool, and she knew there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do if she just was determined enough.

share this story

permalink to story: http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?id=42285

Copy/Paste Story

Click once to select, then copy and paste HTML to your own blog/website.

create a different story from these same cards

Do you have another interpretation of the story behind these pictures? Add it to the collection as a new story!


flickr photo credits: (1) bionicteaching (2) bionicteaching (3) bionicteaching (4) bionicteaching (5) Serenae

For security purposes, please enter the correct words matching the images (blame the spammers):

stories: prev | random | next