Devon's family had never gone to church. Her mother felt Devon deserved just one day to sleep in, although most of the time she was up at the crack of dawn, silently prancing around her room.
One Sunday morning, a couple weeks after her stunning show, her parents slept soundly just a few rooms away as Devon moved gracefully. She had asked for mirrors in her room years ago, and they were installed on her eighth birthday. She had a barre and mats, and everything she needed. Her room was like her own little studio, and she never stopped practicing.
She leaped and sashayed, feeling happy, but tired. She had been so weak lately, her bones and joints aching without reason. She had bruises on her pale skin which seemed to appear without cause. She was getting out of breath, this was so unusual for her, she was never out of breath when she was dancing; and she had just gotten started. She sat down on her bed to rest, soon laying her head back on her pillow and covering herself with her blankets. I was starting to get to her.
"Maybe I'll just go back to sleep for a little while," she thought, "I'll have plenty of energy when I wake up again."
When she finally did wake up, it was to the smell of coffee and her parents talking. She climbed out of bed and walked to the dining room where her parents were enjoying a second cup of coffee and talking quietly.
"You're up late, Runt," her father always called her Runt, because she was so small and skinny, always smaller than the kids her age, like the runt of the litter.
"I was up early this morning, but I just got so tired, so I went back to sleep," she said. She was so confused. She was never tired. This drainage of energy had come out of nowhere.
"You're probably just working too hard, Dev," her mom said, "it's probably good to take it easy every once in a while."
They all just shrugged it off, and Devon ate her breakfast. She figured it would help her gain her strength back, something she desperately needed for her dancing. She was so puzzled about all the pains happening to her body, but she figured it was nothing and continued to eat.
As soon as she was done eating she immediately went back into her room to practice. She kept working on those difficult steps she had just learned the day before. She couldn't seem to get them down, something that almost never happened to her. She cringed as she landed, her knees felt frail as if they would break any minute.
She kept going, but soon had to stop.
"Mommy!" she called with a whimper in her voice "it hurts to dance."
Her parents rushed to her side, asking her what hurt, wanting to do all the could to help her.
I was attacking this child. I was about to tear this family apart. This was what I always did, and so far I was winning. I could see the small child losing strength, her body's fight against me already weak. Her face could no longer smile, I was taking away the one thing she loved. And it felt great.
