The dancer

Words 285

Under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower a woman sat watching the amazed reactions of people as they first laid eyes on the edifice.

The same had been true for Elise, “I will live in Paris one day, Mamma,” she’d tell her mother. “I’ll be a famous dancer, people will come from all over the world to see me.”
Her mother would smile at the child, watching her pirouette, delicate arms raised over dark curls, eyes closed, picturing a promising future.


Elise sipped the coffee, breathing in the aroma, whilst making it last a little longer so she could sit and rest at the café for a few more minutes. She watched steam arise from the hot brick paving after a shower of rain.
Her dark hair, flecked with silver, clung damply to her head, years of disillusionment and disappointments etched upon her narrow, pale face.

Elise’s dream to become a Prima Donna ballerina never eventuated, none of the famous ballet schools would accept her as she grew too tall. Eventually her heart and mind became focused on joining the famous Folies Bergere.

Tall, tanned and lovely, she became one of their star attractions; she enjoyed the accolades and attention of the patrons. Her parents were not so happy when they realised to be part of the show the theatre expected their daughter to flaunt her breasts and dance provocatively.

Elise still lived in Paris long after her stardom faded, having to resort to dancing in seedy bars, stripping for a living.


Water dripped from the tree, down onto Elise’s bare shoulders, making her shiver, she rose from her chair, and began towards the shabby flat she called home. Leaving the café to get ready for the next show.