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Emma Eismontaite

Emma Eismontaite

Email: emute9@hotmail.co.uk

Total Article : 66

About Me:Hello! My name is Emma, and I'm fifteen. I do tennis as well as horse-riding. Also, I love Art and English, and have chosen to write stories because I love creative writing! x

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Don't Give Up

Don't Give Up

     Don’t Give Up

 

I sat in a plush, comfy chair with the rest of my ballet group; near the tall, wooden, gnarly double-doors, fidgeting and fiddling with my fingers and biting my nails nervously. It was the day I was auditioning to join the ballet lessons and they were going to see if I was good enough. Others were here too.

     I was wearing my ballet suit, with a rose cardigan with a pink sash to tie it with, a large, cherry blossom pink tutu that stuck out proudly and proper pointy ballet shoes with salmon pink ribbons that wound delicately round my ankles. I had my long, blonde hair tied up strongly into a big bun that was pinned up with clips. 

     I also had my Mother with me, I was holding her hand tightly with my free hand, gripping her with my sharp nails.

     “It’s going to be all right, don’t you worry,” reassured Mother gently. I felt instantly a bit better, due to her encouragement.

     But when the judge, who was a kind but firm lady, called my name, “Tiffany Woodcock!” I started trembling again, knocking my knees together anxiously. It was what I always did before a performance of some sort. I breathed in deeply and entered the big hall where you practiced and learned how to do ballet. It was a big, silent place with one gigantic mirror filling up an entire hall and bars on the sides to hold on to.

     “Now,” smiled the lady softly. “Let’s see what you can do. Off you go.”

     I  held  my  breath,  counted  to  ten  and  gulped  before starting. I grabbed a rhythmic ribbon from the lady’s table and started my routine. I did twirls and swirls and elegant kicks in the air with one foot. But then came the part where I always got stuck, the part where I always fell to the floor. Keep on trying, Tiffany, just keep on trying. Don’t give up, I muttered to myself.

     I began to start my finishing move.

     I started whirling, one foot on its pointed toe, the other foot kicking out in the air, then in, then out again. I spun the rhythmic ribbon above my head, spinning it around my body. I finished with the splits, gasping for breath and beaming.

     The lady clapped and stood up and I knew I had passed the audition.            

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