
08-20-2009, 04:39 AM
Hey... wondering if I could get a quick critique on a project for a poetry/prose class. I'm supposed to write three brief free writes on the same topic but conveying different feelings and using different styles of writing... I would love to hear what you have to say about them.
The Stage (Surealism)
Her body was a crumpled ball, each muscle compressed firmly against the floor. How long had she been laying here? Hours? Days? She had no frame of reference, only the tightly coiled spring that was her spine begging to release itself. There were footsteps and a creaking hinge as light flooded around her. Her first reaction was to shield her eyes, but she quickly remembered her purpose. This was her chance! This was her stage. She unfolded her body. Forth position. Her arms stretched themselves high above her and encircled her head like the radial halo of a stained glass window. She threw her leg out to the side and danced. Her rose tulle skirts fanned out around her and though her dress was dirtied and far faded from its original glory, she still looked young and beautiful and lovely in it. She twirled much faster than the music that accompanied her. The song plucked out slow and raspy, as if the notes became caught between grinding gears and spit, popping out one at a time. Each note sounding more like it was being tuned than played. They floated into the air and then dissolved into the carpet. But she danced. Released from her confines, even the music had no hold on her. She danced for anyone that would watch and just as the door closed shut on her again she caught the smile of a young girl. She collapsed back against the floor and waited once again amongst the musty treasures of her room. She didn’t know how long it would be until she was let out again, but a smile told her it was worth the wait.
The Dancer (Satire)
Her leg rested itself against the bar. She gazed at her stiffened figure in one of a dozen mirrors regurgitating her beautiful ballerina body from every angle. She had once been such a chubby little girl but hard work and dedication had morphed her into the lithe creature that danced in the glass. She let herself slump as she withdrew from the safety of the bar and found the center of the hall. First, second, third position. Forth. In the mirror her upward stretched arms exaggerated the flatness of her chest and the hollows of her skin stretched over her skeleton. And surely it was the light in the hall creating the transparency of her skin. Up on point her legs looked so long as her toes cramped themselves hard against the padding of her slippers. In this place there was no room for the full curves of a Victoria’s Secret model. Oh no, this was her beautiful ballerina body.
The Box (Prose)
The little girl spun into the room in a flutter of glittery pink. Tutu-ed and tiara-d like a little princess, she danced across the room with great exuberance and then stood still. She had stopped in front of a delicate wooden box and in her stillness it seemed as though time had stopped as well. Her eyes were wide with childlike wonder like every time she opened the box. She ran her fingers over the light polished wood so gently that you couldn’t have guessed from the touch that it had been the same girl who had just flung herself across the room. She opened the box with the same gentle care and peered inside at the shiny treasures within. She sat in reverence as a plinking tune- perhaps “La Der des Der” poured out and the tiny idol in the box began to spin.
Thanks!
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