# data[].attributes.body
Crinkled leaves fluttered to the ground, silently dancing in the wind. The flames boldly danced along to the same rhythm, swaying dauntlessly. As the blaze leapt to life, raindrops seemed to hover before subtly joining the melancholy movement. The scent of fresh autumn rain overwhelmed the smoky, savory smell of the fire, and for a moment there was only peace.

She sat, stunned, as the world seemed to stop. The distant voices in her head and the stress that seemed to weigh her down disappeared. The golden marshmallows crackling over the fire, joyful laughter around the flame, heavy sighs of coldness, and rhythmic strumming of the ukulele became more and more apparent. She dreamily tapped her fingers along to the simplistic sounds surrounding her. Then, only saturated hues of red, orange, and yellow remained. All that was left was its intense glow. The comfort and cherish of the loving flame.

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A girl was sitting in her usual spot, a water fountain with jewels embedded in the large structure of the bowl that catches water. It was a particular gloomy day, which definitely fit the girl’s mood. But the thing was, she didn’t have a reason to be sad, but she was just down, a melancholy feeling. She was in her own little paradise, a small garden tucked behind woods. The wooden swing next to her, rocking with the wind. The scent of pines filled the air, she watched a broad buck grazing on some grass not too far in front of her. A tall dark figure stalked towards her, his hand out, “Dance?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he took the girl’s hand and pulled her into his embrace. Swaying to non-exsisting music, but it seemed perfect, still that melancholy feeling was lingering, but maybe just perfectly imperfect.

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I pulled my tights up, nervously getting ready for the biggest night of my life. It was the night of the Nutcracker. I; Paige Lavensky was going to play the main character; Clara. This has been everything I've dreamed of since I was 4 years old. All I could imagine growing up was me on a huge stage under glowing stage lights with a huge audience clapping and cheering as I would glide among the stage. 10 years later all I could think about is me screwing up on stage. My stomach felt like knots. Breath in breath out, I told myself. I couldn't bear the thought of me falling on stage, as the crowd  would gasp in horror. Tears streamed down my face. I felt melancholy. I stared into the mirror and I shuddered. What was I going to do? I had 30 minutes until I got on stage…

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Once upon a time in the land of the Slyeeta there lived a melancholy man called papa Snerf. He wanted to go to Snerf village but never got there so he was so very sad. He always danced everywhere he went but was still sad. So, he grew a pair of wings. And learned to dance in the sky. He really loved to dance. So, he masters the art no one else had ever mastered, sky dancing. He practiced it every day and then he opened a sky dancing dojo where he taught people how to sky dance. After 50 years sky dancing became a sport. This made him so happy but so sad. He was happy because he made something he loved worldwide. But sad because he was too old to do it. However, papa Snerf had an idea. He was going to make a league for old people.

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By: Melody Cherry, Jacksonville, Florida

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By: Melody Cherry, Jacksonville, Florida

# data[].attributes.body
The dance of our souls is one of grief, a slow cycle, coming to an end. But it is also one of joy, peace, and movement. That movement, however, stirs chaos, like fire in the wind. Love, unrequited, a melancholy, endlessly spinning world, revolving around us. The soul of a cat, by the name of Artemis, danced slowly, to a melancholy tune, the sounds of tears still haunting her ears. The tears of her owner, by the name of Kate, dripped from her eyes, leaving trails of misery behind. So, what to do with this saddening dance? Embrace it. Change must come and go, for fate is the one to tell the tale, but maybe one day, Kate may see Artemis with her there. There in the sky, ever-changing. Sun and rain, tears to free the pain, may they dance away.

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We return to dance as usual. Only this time,  ravens above the school form a dismal cloud. Cawing to anyone who will listen. Singing, voices cracked and sharp, of the melancholy within. Inside, between weak pirouettes and hurried sashays, they talk about Annie. Some say she fell. Others that she leapt too far, her jump was too high, that the stage was too small. Excuses, excuses, excuses. That’s all they do, is make excuses for something they don’t know anything about. They try to float while drowning, trying to grasp at something that isn’t there. They dwell in an ocean of nothing, swimming towards the dejected. But not to me. They help others breath freely as I continue to gasp for air. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, as they say. But what happens when you’re not the wheel, but the pothole, forcing a sharp turn. A push. A crash.

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Abi walked into their dance studio. They were tired after the long day at school. The cafeteria-sized room was hot and stuffy from the mid-afternoon sun that shined through the windowed wall. The little peek of the wood floor from under the gray carpet was the only color in the studio.

“You’re late Abigail!” Mrs. Wehrle shouted angrily. Her brown hair was tied up in a high bun, she wore a black leotard and white tights. All the other students were at the barre stretching. Abi quickly put down their dance bag and jogged to the barre. Abi put their foot up and prepared for the long class ahead.

Midway through the class, Mrs. Wehrle started to choke. Everyone stopped dancing to try and help their teacher. Sadly, everyone was too late. Melancholy washed over the room. Their teacher's limp body lay in the center of the circle of students.

By: Simone

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Dance is the only thing that keeps me going in life. I’m all alone in the world. I always feel melancholy, but can I even call it that anymore? It started during the end of world war 2. Me and my family decided to leave Japan because it was becoming even more chaotic. I was the only one on the flight, being only 5, when 25 minutes away from Japan the first atomic bomb dropped lighted up my home, family and friends. Now I dance and train everyday, 24/7.I perform in dance competitions around the world putting my sadness and emotions into dance. I leave everyone I compete with in the dust. I have won over 20 medals and trophies through out my career in dance. I dance for my family and friends who died in Japan all those years ago… But in the end it is never enough.

# data[].attributes.body
MP3 player starts rolling.

One step.

Another.

The rest proceed to blend together as the once arduous climb becomes one of promise.

The stairs so many struggled upon as an effort to keep themselves sane, now effortlessly danced upon, alongside those still trying.

It’s a joke really, a funny one at that.

Another step.

The beat matches the movement being made, the lyrics lost soon before.

Lost alongside the sanity one held once before.

Lost alongside the melancholy, whose presence felt nothing more than reassuring.

Reassurance that one could still feel something.

Another step.

The steps start bleeding together, turning into a melodic dance.

One step, right foot, left foot, stomp.

Another step.

An everlasting waltz between thought and movement.

Step after step, beat after beat.

One step, right-

The MP3 player stops.

There are no more stairs to dance upon.

The replay button is pressed.

MP3 player starts rolling.

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By: Jack Marsh
SLC, Utah

As soon as the alarm went off, Max shot out of bed. After remembering to put on some clothes, he ate breakfast and headed out the door. When he arrived at school, he remembered the teacher, Mrs. Cane, had promised them a dance party today. They started the day with math. Dividing fraction, despite how boring it was. After they began doing language arts. By the time lunch rolled around, Max and his friends knew they needed the dance party. When the got in, “Dance Magic Dance” by David Bowie was playing. They must have danced for an hour. When school got, Max raced home, to play his favorite game. Ben. Once he logged on, Ben picked up the phone. “Ben,” Ben said. “Hey, uh, just wanted to chat.” “No” and then, Ben hung up. He felt quite Melancholy after that.

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The situation was one of life or death. Despite the pressure, the brave knight and villain fell into a sort of dance. A dance of defense and offense. A dance of keeping distance and going into strike. After a while, the knight found himself enjoying this dance of theirs, this villain was a worthy opponent. The knight became absorbed in their deadly dance, all senses on the man in front of him. The two were in sync with each other; the villain would push forward, the knight would lean back. This went on for what seemed like hours, but finally with the last of his strength, the knight landed the finishing blow. After coming back to his senses, he realized what he had done. In the distance he heard the townspeople cheering, cheering for his accomplishment. He had saved his people, but still, he felt something deep within him, melancholy.

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The lights burn on my skin. I breath and look for my friend. She’s gone. My family, not here. I feel so alone now. So…melancholy. The music starts. I look at the audience, the people of Washington D.C. The sadness makes me move, though I am hurting inside. The music goes, and a single tear, silently, I cry. Dance, dance, dancing, like a puppet being pulled by his strings. Hurt. Tears fall down my face, my eyes close and I dance. Alone, I stand, I dance. A boy with nothing to feel but sadness. I cry, I move, I dance. The stage dims down. The lights falter, matching my feelings, the music slows. Tap, tap. Step, step. Whisper, whisper, whispering. My heart breaks, my eyes cry, my body moves. Hurt. My body dosn’t want to move anymore, but I move. The show is over with, and my broken heart follows.

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“Thai thai, thith thith thai, tham. Thajum.” My dance teacher hit the block of wood in time while I danced.

It was my Arangetram dance, and I had been working on it for a while. As I stomped my foot, a painful sensation came from it. “Ow!” I cried and stopped.

“What happened Vidya?” My dance teacher, Radha-auntie, came up to me, eyes crinkling in concern.

“My right leg. It hurts a lot.” I hobbled towards the stool on the side where I put my right ankle on my left leg to examine. “I’m not sure what happened.” I told Radha-auntie as I looked closely and tried to massage it. Pain burst from my ankle as I touched it.

Gods, melancholy, and panic flood through me. “Radha-auntie, I think I need to go see the doctor.”

***

“Vidya, you are fine, you just tore a muscle.” My doctor was saying. Phew.

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One day as I was heading into DC to see a play I noticed that the sky was looking very melancholy and when we got to the play it was no different. It was a good play with a lot of dance and music but I was growing very tired of it when the mood turned somber as someone was killed in the play and I thought back to the sky and it looked just like this moment but as the play went on it had its moments of sadness and dreariness but also moments of happiness and wonder as the dance continued it felt like the play was mimicking the sky with slow big dances like storm clouds rolling in and then the happy quick movements of a sunny day with a small breeze. As the play ended I thought of the sky one last time before I went home.

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As the music started playing I started dancing alone with a fear of being exposed.  I look around To see people everywhere dancing with each other.  And I am dancing alone.  I feel sad inside and I can tell people are starting to murmur about me.  I am not any ordinary rich person I have no money and got my dress and mask from my mother.  She gave it to me years ago.  It’s beautiful though.  As I walk around dancing with myself I hear someone call my dance melancholy.  I ignore them as best I can as I continue to dance with myself.  And eventually, I stop.  As I turn around I see someone, Someone tall and all I can do is stare.  He looks down at me, and then he grabs my hand drags me to the dance floor and holds my waist.  Then we start to dance.

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By: Cameron Butler, Arlington, Virginia, APS

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By: Cameron Butler, Arlington, Virginia, APS

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Marisa was on her way to her dance practice, she was particularly scared for this practice because her dance instructor had threatened to replace her in the melancholy dance. Marisa had been having a hard time getting this dance down because of its slow, sad, and graceful nature. As she got to the practice, her dance instructor confronted her about the dance. He told Marisa “Today you will have a practice rehearsal in front of some parents and judges, this will decide whether you or Alice will perform the melancholy dance in the district dance competition. Marisa slowly made her way toward the stage as Alice shot her a nasty look. Her dance instructor gave her the que to begin the dance and Marisa began. Marisa’s body glided gracefully across the stage and she performed the race better than she ever had. She heard applause and she sighed in relief.

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By: Ada Ertekin-Taner, Jacksonville, Florida

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By: Ada Ertekin-Taner, Jacksonville, Florida

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I move through the open space, feeling my body quiver lightly as I dance. I twisted my torso, twirled on my feet, and reached up with my hands. I usually feel like I am in a magical world when I am dancing. Like I’m in a fairy world with beautiful people and beautiful places to see. I don’t ever have to worry. But this time, this time I don’t see that. Now, I have a feeling that starts in my back and glides to my chest. This is a melancholy feeling. I know I’m feeling this way because dancing reminds me too much of my past, my loved ones.  It’s amazing how one day you are surrounded by your friends and family and the next day, they are gone. Now, I can’t dance like I used to. Now I am just alone in the spotlight waiting and waiting and waiting.

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Digging into the floor, they bite for friction. Tearing through time and swirling around in speed, whipping the fabric and breaking the skin, holding on and then releasing. Melancholy little birds, dancing on pieces of broken glass - careful not to disrupt the fire, building up inside. Too afraid to speak out, they are dragged into submission and forced to perform a lie. A fleeting lie, dancing on rooftops and glazing over the truth. Leaping over the hills and retreating into the horizon. Fluid and connected, but lethal in the deliberate movements behind the dainty turns and extensions.

Lines and joined conclusions, thought processes and expressions, all made through the split second and forced time.

Costumes and couture, makeup and gauze, all used to cover up the exposed. Fabric and tulle bunched together, forming protection from the outer layers of the world, covering you until you suffocate. Don't let it breathe.

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As rain banged on the roofs and ran into the gutters, and the wind whistled in the trees, a slow feeling of gloom began to creep over the world, slowly engulfing the area in a deep existential feeling of utter melancholy. The ground was wet and soaked, and every few feet a puddle, always shallow, but as they reflected the gray sky they looked like a portal into another world. The trees were dancing to the beat of the wind, and in the dark fog it looked almost as if they were alive. In houses, you could hear only the tapping of the rain like little fingers, and the occasional car passing on the street. The noise was like a cacophony of sorrow whaling at the mind like an opera. Even with this it was wonderfully calm, the perfect night to be curled up by the fire with a book.

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Free, that’s how I feel as I twirl around. My hands swish through the air and I can feel the crisp wind on my face. The glowing moon lights up the glade with melancholy light and my feet dance across the dirt. I’m free as I leap across the starry sky. My eyes are locked with my heart as I fly higher through the heavens.
A crack… and it's over.
My eyes awake and I find myself back in the harsh reality. There’s not one scent of being free. The air is warm and tenacious, gripping to my sides. Bright unattractive and unnatural light glares on my skin. The stage is unkind and unaspiring: it wounds me. The eyes of the audience stare into my being, impairing my body. I can’t move, breathe, or feel. Then I feel a hefty hand on my shoulder and I know… I can fly.

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stop

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A whirlwind of steps and moves, knowing the choreography by heart. Although it’s far past dark, I continue my dance of turns and hops. My melancholy setting is blocked out as I close my eyes and imagine myself to be a spider, my web lifting me high above the grass as I leap. Eight legs would be far better than two for my routine. However, that’s three more pairs of pointe shoes to buy. I doubt my mother would enjoy financing my hobby if she had to pay for four sets of shoes rather than one. As I finally open my eyes and gaze to the left, I see a spider climbing the pillar beside me. I’ve always wanted to do partner work in a performance. Or, perhaps it could be my audience. I’m always hidden in the back and am pleased to be able to put on a show.

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It was daytime in the McDonald’s drive through for Bartholomew. An air of Melancholy surrounded him as he realized he was only making two cents an hour.

“Welcome to McDonald’s. What can I do for you today?” He said.

“Well hello there” Said an UWU hoarse girl

“What do you want”

“I WANT YOU”

Bartholomew & the UWU hoarse girl fell into a solid romance, until one day- August 46th. The couple had a fight & they left each other.

Bartholomew lit the UWU hoarse girl’s house on fire, & he decided to go to work.

He was depressed that his romance with the UWU hoarse girl was over, so he tap danced. As he was tap dancing around the McDonalds kitchen, he fell, breaking McDonald’s ice cream machine & “accidentally” ate their entire supply of Big Macs. He went to look out the window, and everyone was tap dancing. He was then happy.

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I found out my mother had cancer 9 days before her 45th birthday, 7 days before the big performance, 5 days before she died. It is her dream to watch me dance on the big stage of LA. After, she found out I got into the show, she looked like she almost died of happiness. It was always loud and happy in the house when she was around. My sister is at school and my dad at his job, there’s no one home for me to talk to. Not my mom. Tears fill my eyes. Right now, the melancholic silence hurts my ears, it’s too much for me to handle. I open my phone and search until I find my mom’s favorite song. The happiest one in my playlist, the brightest, just like her. I stop myself from crying. I play it at full volume and practice for the performance.

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U’ve missed the entire ceremony! Get over here, Ms. Melancholy.

That was the single text Marilyn sent, that got me to stop pacing in the bathroom, and come out to experience her cousin’s wedding.

I entered the ballroom, as an announcer’s voice boomed, “Let’s welcome the newly wed couple to the dance floor!”

I squeezed into the room, focused on finding my friend. All I could see over the heads near me was the empty dance floor, a grand cake, and an elderly man sleeping in the corner, drool staining his tux.

“Hey, Emmie, look. Noreen is stunning!” A voice whispered in my ear. I turned to see Marilyn, in her bright floral bridesmaid gown.
Having found Marilyn, I smiled and looked over to Noreen, in her white dress as she stepped onto the floor with her dance partner.
Wearing a suit and an unfamiliar wedding band, was:

My.

Father.

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He reaches a hand out to me. Hesitating, I slowly uncoil my fingers and put them in his warm hand. “This is wrong,” I think, “I can’t be here with him. Even if we wanted it…no, I can’t even start with that thought. This is the final night. I should leave before I start something I can’t finish”. Yet, our fingers intertwine together. He puts his hand on the small of my back and we start to spin. Our feet move in unison, yet he looks down at me with eyes full of sorrow. We both know this is the end. The music slows to a sway, and there we are. Two people joined as one. This is what was meant to be. Alas, nothing but a fantasy. Even after all these years, goodbye is going to be the hardest thing I’m ever going to have to say to him.

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By: Makaila Gerstman, Rotterdam, New York

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By: Makaila Gerstman, Rotterdam, New York

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The lights lit up the stage and before Sienna knew it she was dancing to a very upbeat jazzy song. She felt good about the dance. She had good facial expressions and hit all of her turns. When she left the stage everyone was cheering. Her whole family came and they were all super proud of her. That made her feel even better. She thought she was going to take 1st place.  It was awards time and she was anxiously excited. They started with the adjudications and she  got platinum with 1st place in her category. She was almost positive she was going to win. She was so excited she could scream. She could've been so loud no one would hear her anyways. They called her by her number and her name. She placed…… SECOND overall.  She felt melancholic. Sienna, surrounded by her loved ones, was crying. Good try Sienna!

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It was a late Saturday evening at Gusteau’s.  Remy was making the last batch of soup.  As he fetched his ingredients he gracefully spun.  He twirled around the kitchen fetching his oregano, basil, and saffron.  He performed an ever so elegant dance.  As Alfredo Linguine stirred the soup and kept it at a constant temperature, Remy danced.  It was the best dance that Alfredo had ever seen performed by a rat.  As the soup was just about finished, the sous chef, Skinner walked in.  He saw the soup left unattended and a rat in his kitchen, he grew melancholy.  Once he finished the soup himself, he found Alfredo and screamed at him.  Remy watched as this happened and felt bad for his friend Alfredo.  But, Skinner was just nervous about the critic, Anton Ego.  They served the soup, along with a scrumptious plate called ‘Ratatouille’.  Anton Ego enjoyed this meal.

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a bittersweet worm love story by: chloe d (same chloe from GET AWAY FROM ME)

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a bittersweet worm love story by: chloe d (same chloe from GET AWAY FROM ME)

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One time I was climbing a tree and there was a worm on it. So I jumped and fell off the tree in surprise. As I observed the tree to see if the worm still lies there, I saw the worm dancing with another. It looked like the two worms were in love, the unconditional kind. After witnessing ths, I felt a sense of melancholy, because I have not yet experienced this for myself. I decided to let them have their privacy and leave. As I walked away, this feeling of sadness lingered. I've decided to name these worms, Mr. Wonderful and Mr. Wormle. I hope that these two worms live a long happy life together in that tree, dancing their hearts out. I walked further and saw another worm, alone, depressed, so I picked it up and took it with me, dancing. We can love eachother now, forever together.

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There was once a belly button, that belly button was an innie not an outie, the belly button felt left out and melancholy because all of their friends were outies. Everyday that belly button would go to school, eat, sleep & shower just like any other belly button. Even though the belly button had an innie it wasn’t just that, it had belly cotton inside, which everyone despised it for. Then one usual day for the belly button, their enemy they called the “Outie King” pushed the belly button on the floor and called it a freak. This is the day the belly button had discovered its cotton had dancing skills which gave it an idea… The day after the “Outie King” upfronted the belly button, the belly button decided to go up to the “Outie King” and propose a dancing competition. The belly button cotton made the button dance away.

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“Vanessa!” I hear with a soft knock on the window.  I peer through before I see Barry B Benson.  I quickly opened the window excited he visited me so early.  The fresh flowers in my window sill filling my senses.  “I’ve had melancholy without you, Vanessa, I’m sorry I’ve had to take care of the hive.”  I show a slight smile holding him in my hand.  Barry pulls out a mini candle and says, “Well I’ve learned to dance in my off time, would you care to join?”  I scurry to my closet and throw on my most beautiful gown.  I turn on some slow dancing music and look into his eyes longingly.  Barry and I grab each other and start dancing.  I make sure to be soft with him.  Everyday with Barry is like a fantasy.  “Vanessa, I love you,” I giggle at his remark and savor this moment.

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i totally made up these characters: Lucas Avery

# data[].attributes.subject
i totally made up these characters: Lucas Avery

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Ichabod sat lonely and upset, for despite the wonderful party and music, he had no one to dance with. The food wasn’t even appetizing, not without someone to share it with. He sighed and waited for the party to end. No one else seemed to feel or look so melancholy, was it just him? He saw Brom walking nearby, with people trailing at his feet. Why couldn’t he be like him? Because he was new, a scholar? Suddenly, the talk of the town Katrina waltzed gloriously into the room. Everyone stopped, and stared. Brom held out his hand for Katrina to dance, but Katrina held out hers. She stepped towards Ichabod. Brom and the other guests stared at her. “What is she thinking? What’s happening?” they murmured. Ichabod and Katrina began to dance, they became the life of the party. Ichabod was happy, content. This was his favorite party now.

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“Vanessa!” I hear with a soft knock on the window.  I peer through before I see Barry B Benson.  I quickly opened the window excited he visited me so early.  The fresh flowers in my window sill filling my senses.  “I’ve had melancholy without you, Vanessa, I’m sorry I’ve had to take care of the hive.”  I show a slight smile holding him in my hand.  Barry pulls out a mini candle and says, “Well I’ve learned to dance in my off time, would you care to join?”  I scurry to my closet and throw on my most beautiful gown.  I turn on some slow dancing music and look into his eyes longingly.  Barry and I grab each other and start dancing.  I make sure to be soft with him.  Everyday with Barry is like a fantasy.  “Vanessa, I love you,” I giggle at his remark and savor this moment.

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It was a brisk fall afternoon, the school building was quiet and Chloe and I were walking to class as we were approached by an unfamiliar girl, she was running to come dance as I told her to “get away from me!” She was melancholic from my response as Chloe and I swiftly exited the encounter. We eventually reached our class and talked about the encounter. Several minutes went by and out of the classroom we saw that same girl dancing by herself. We were melancholic knowing she was all alone, Chloe says “poor girl” as I nod my head in agreement. We walk up to her and dance with her. We dance for a couple minutes and we have a great time, we start talking to the girl and she has a huge passion for dancing. Me and Chloe look at eachother proud that we danced with the girl.

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It was late at night, I was supposed to be asleep. But I just wasn’t tired and I was the only one home. I was just laying there on my phone, scrolling through social media. Then I heard a noise downstairs, specifically my back doors very distinct creaking noise. I tried to sneak downstairs to see what was going on holding my old stuffed bear with a tenacious grip. There was a man… with a gun. In the past the neighborhood has had 3 robberies of a man with a gun who tends to kill the people in the home, and take the expensive things in the houses. He hasn’t been caught. I decided to hide back upstairs so I’d maybe have a chance. I curled myself up in the back of my closet with the door slightly open. He walked in the room. Then I did it… I sneezed.

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Lilia Viteva Los Alamos New Mexico:                   The melancholy moan in the rain added on to her sorrow. The pain of being asked to dance as a joke was too much for her already broken heart. She didn’t know what to do. So she did the one thing that wouldn't let her down, dance. After wiping her smudged makeup she patted her dress and walked into the ballroom. She took a glass of champagne from a server while making her way to the dance floor. She spun with tears in her eyes and this sense of freedom. A freedom from love, the unhealthy obsession with wanting to be loved. As she twirled, she left the tears of yesterday spin off into the warm, lively, ballroom. She laughed with the strangers around her and took each other's hand in dance, kicking, spinning, and twirling into the drizzled night. After that night she finally found peace in the rain.          

# data[].attributes.subject
Lilia Viteva Los Alamos New Mexico:                   The melancholy moan in the rain added on to her sorrow. The pain of being asked to dance as a joke was too much for her already broken heart. She didn’t know what to do. So she did the one thing that wouldn't let her down, dance. After wiping her smudged makeup she patted her dress and walked into the ballroom. She took a glass of champagne from a server while making her way to the dance floor. She spun with tears in her eyes and this sense of freedom. A freedom from love, the unhealthy obsession with wanting to be loved. As she twirled, she left the tears of yesterday spin off into the warm, lively, ballroom. She laughed with the strangers around her and took each other's hand in dance, kicking, spinning, and twirling into the drizzled night. After that night she finally found peace in the rain.          

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By: Rose Ray, Joplin, Missouri. Wallflower

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By: Rose Ray, Joplin, Missouri. Wallflower

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The dance was nothing special,  just some random dance in the middle of January. There's nothing special about January, in our nothing special gym that always smelled like feet and sweat. My friends all went to the bathroom but I had to stay behind to make sure nobody took our table. That's when I saw Lilac sitting on the floor next to the gym doors. I always had a soft spot for wallflowers. She didn't seem upset, just sort of melancholy. I left my jacket on the table in a sorry attempt to keep it claimed. I walked up to her and asked her to dance, I´d rather dance with a stranger than sit alone. I actually had a lot of fun hanging out with her all night. Turns out my friends had ditched me to go to some party, but it brought me and my new best friend together.

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I sat at my kitchen table. A melancholic feeling overtook me. She was going to be gone. Forever. A lonely tear trickled down my cheek. The doorbell rang, I mosied over to the door, not in any such hurry. I pulled the door and it creaked open slowly. It was her.

“Wha–?” I stammered, she put her finger to my lips.

“We’ve still got some time before I leave… I thought I would give a proper goodbye.” I smiled at her.

We hopped on our bikes and rode off. Tires tearing at the ground. Us laughing, for the last time. The sun burned hot on our shoulders and neck. I knew where she was going. We stopped next to a small tree. She led me to it. Where we first met. She started dancing then I followed. To an imaginary song, like nothing ever happened, like we were still kids.

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A young flower is dancing in a dark blue pond. The moonlight shines above her, highlighting every graceful swish of her petals. As the young flower drifts away from the spotlight, many dancing flowers just like her fill the spot she once was in. She is surrounded by other flowers, many watching her and her brethren, yet she still feels melancholy, so alone. The time to go back into the light has once again arrived. She has done this many times, and every time feels less and less fulfilling. The end of their waltz comes as the moon dips below the mountains. The young flower slowly sinks beneath the water. Behind the stage, while others take their bows, the young flower slips off her ballet shoes, her tutu, and her leotard. She lets down her bun and flops on her bed, preparing for her dance on the stage once again.

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The lights brightened in my face–it was time. I was nervous and scared, but I couldn't let it stop me. The audience was quiet, waiting for me to begin; someone coughed, it stood out to me in the silence. The music began to play, I began to dance, letting the music take control of me, it directed my movements, moved my feet. I was majestic; I was beautiful. But instead of being happy–I felt melancholy. My feet dragged instead of glided, my arms flopped instead of falling. I became nervous again. I remembered what my mother told me: “ Come here my graceful flower, remember to follow your own dreams, not others.” It was the last time I saw her. I closed my eyes to remember her words, my feet stopped dragging, my arms fell gracefully, the doubt left my body. I faced the crowd and danced my little heart away.

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My Little Dancer

My little dancer has such great talent. She does beautiful and graceful Ballet. My little dancer, my Ellie.

I was getting ready for my performance. I slipped my costume on; the sparkly sequins scratching my arms. I was warming up, getting ready for the performance. If I succeeded here, it would change my life. Scouts would see me, offer me a position.

When I got on the stage, I moved with the gentle music. Every gesture was so well rehearsed and engraved in my bones. The music slows—then I jump! I spin on my toes. I’m doing so well.

Then fell.

I fell off the stage and into the audience. Blackness. When I woke up, I saw my dad.

“It’s over.” I said to him, “I’ve missed my chance.”

“No you didn’t Ellie. It was just postponed. You will always, and forever more, be my little dancer.”

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By: Caitlyn Fields                          Belgium

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By: Caitlyn Fields                          Belgium

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Silence. All silence. That’s all I hear now. All I feel now is the melancholy atmosphere around me. “Enjoy life when you’re young,” they say. I can’t. “Try to live every second like it's a treasure,” they say. It’s too hard. The doctors tell me to rest. I’m too busy dancing through all these immense thoughts, sprouting tears out of my eyes. They tell me to not close my eyes. I’m too tired. “Keep on pushing, things will get better.” Things never get better. “Try to stay positive,” they insist. They say that, but once I am, they tell me not to get my hopes up. “Be prepared for the worst.” But what if I don’t want to be prepared for something I don’t know is even going to happen?  How am I supposed to live up to their expectations, when I have a severe case of stage four cancer?

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Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.Ti-BRING. She wonders how her tiny alarm clock makes so much noise.

The spiky touch of the unloving cold air shakes her awake more than her alarm clock.

She wonders as she gets dressed dancing around her room tangoing in her head.

She thinks and wonders, wonders and thinks, brushing her teeth, eating breakfast.

She hardly notices as the day slips away, she thinks about the world as it passes her by.

Her mother blames it on her phone and her father blames it on her loneliness.

Their stubbornness is overwhelming for her, she gives up on explaining.

Both are true, but she believes otherwise, she thinks her head is just too full.

Full of grades, full of social status, full of her parents, and full of herself.

The last one hits hard to her.

Her parents don’t see.

The melancholy right in front of me.

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I am alone in her room, but I don’t feel alone as the lilting, melancholic music lifts the day’s fog off of my brain. When I’m at school I can’t seem to find my melody, her voice, but here it’s just too easy. I can feel her presence, in the empty silence, but everywhere else her music is dimmed by the sounds of the outside world. That’s how the world feels, far away and unrelated to my life. My life is here, in this room, in her room. The record playing her favorite song pulls me off the bed and I start to dance, feeling her arms next to me, gently guiding my posture and grace, and making me feel like a star. My moves are shaky, my kicks abrupt and ugly, my arms flailing about, but none of that matters, because when I dance I can bring her back.

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Broken Woman By: Johanna Hillman, Hampton Falls, New Hampshire

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Broken Woman By: Johanna Hillman, Hampton Falls, New Hampshire

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I am a crazy woman. I laugh, using all of my airpower. Who needs sanity? I think to myself as I dance on top of a fence. Safety, love, paranoia, they were all gone now. I was just a bubble, floating through space. I laughed again, startling an old couple near me. Even as I hop down from the fence into the crowd and the melancholy tries to press in around me, I still find myself to be an explorer, a wanderer, a person without direction. My bubble still unbroken. I had forgotten what had driven on this madness just as I had forgotten what sanity used to be like. Sanity only held me back. Now I was free, drifting along the wind. Death had driven me mad, but insanity had brought me life. Even still insanity had also brought me closer to death, and closer to her. My baby.

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The Nefarious Ranch Dressing by:                      Isha Sastry, Hampton Falls, NH 

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The Nefarious Ranch Dressing by:                      Isha Sastry, Hampton Falls, NH 

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More than anything in the world, I despise ranch dressing. Melancholic symphonies, gallivanting monkeys dancing on street lights, green eggs and ham, nothing compares to the anger I feel towards the dripping, thick condiment. How I hate it, in all its slimy white glory. And yet, I can’t seem to get it out of my head, as it circles around my brain, disturbing my thoughts. I can no longer rely on my wits, for they are poisoned by the terrorizing images of ranch dressing slathered like pig grease over a piping pizza, its once beautiful crust soggy. But that nefarious hand swoops in, pouring the horrendous liquidy goop over something so innocent. Those tricks of the mind are impossible to become realities, or so I thought. So you would imagine I would be surprised about finding it in my shoes on April first.

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„Melancholy Rain”

There was nothing stopping me as I ran through the woods behind my house. I didn’t understand why no one would listen to me.  I cried and sobbed, stopping finally in a clearing that opened to the sky, a cold, grey, echo to my feelings-- as if They had forgotten to paint it today. I close my eyes, wondering why my parents wouldn’t let me. My grades were good, I never talked back, all I ever asked for was to dance. I heard the melancholy call of a loon, likely coming from the nearby lake. A drop of rain fell on my face, and I looked up to see the grey clouds gathering overhead. Standing up, I swayed a bit, letting the music in my head slowly take over. A step to the side, a twirl, all my pain was forgotten and washed away as I danced in the rain.

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“Watch your six and check for ticks, it’s time,” My partner says over the transceiver. The echoes of the ballet leak through the walls. If only the dancers they knew that the theater had been rigged to blow by the most melancholic mustached criminal mastermind known to man. The maniacal menace has been running amok through NYC’s streets for some time. he used to be a professional dancer. it was strange he chose to blow the very theater his last performance was. seconds after I smell his foul stench, I hear a click behind me.

trying to foil my plans again? You’ve got nowhere to go. You’ll just be another name on the memorial!” He says in his doleful way. I catch just a hint of melancholy in his eye, “As soon as I’m done with you, I’ll blow this place sky - high. Then, I’ll finally be done with me.”

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On one Monday, Meg’s class was told they’d have a test the next week. She wasn’t concerned, so she ignored it. She didn’t study. She had scanned her books the day before but wasn’t worried. She walked into school calmly but found the test much harder than she had expected. She tried but couldn’t answer most of the questions. When she got home, she celebrated with her sister, who took the same course, thinking they had both done well. When they got their tests back, Meg discovered that she had failed the test. Amy had studied a lot and had aced the test. Meg sulked in her room, not wanting to tell her mom. When her mom walked in, she noticed megs melancholy expression, and asked her what had happened. Meg didn’t want to, but finally she told her the truth.

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“Wait up!” I call to my little sister, Violet.

She’s already on the bottom step, her small feet prancing a dance over to the door.

“Hurry up, then,” Violet says, pulling on her sunflower yellow high-tops.

With my shoes on, I hurry out the door with her. The sky is gray and a sense of melancholy hangs in the air, but Violet doesn’t care. She pirouettes down our driveway and continues up the road with me following in her wake.

Being with Violet who jumps and spins and dances all the time, makes me feel almost as lighthearted, as if her colorful attitude is contagious.

And then she trips. Falls. Opens her mouth. Then comes the sharp lights of the trash truck.

I. Can’t. Reach. Her.

It’s all happening again, the memory, the day where everything shattered down to the ground. Back to the time when I lost my sister.

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The Broken Winged Swan
A young girl, Anabella, was so gentle and loving. Born and raised a dancer, she spent her life on her toes, always so elegant and agile. She was the heroine in every ballet. Her grace was uncanny, and yet she was viewed so harshly. She was constantly criticized for every mistake, beaten, and burdened. She felt only pain and melancholy. Her tears stained her leotards and silk stockings. That strength she had buried in her tears, she needed now. The fighter deep inside was challenged every waking hour. She was sad and alone and afraid, not for herself but for her legacy. Anabella was the protagonist in The Black Swan like she had been in every ballet before, only she was petrified this time. She walks on stage, her crisp, clean makeup covering the bruises up and down her body, she’s not as strong, and still, she begins to dance.

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Rhythm. A funny word, I hardly have any.
My feet stumbled, struggling to find its soil.What I found difficult.. I wasn't sure. Perhaps it was my rhythm, or lack thereof. For the fact I stood alone in this ballroom, practicing this waltz by myself. Suffocating, melancholy air choking me. I could feel their stares, their judgement; but I feel nothing at the same time.
I halted my feet. Lonesome, music was my only company. This ballroom may fill with hundreds of people and I'll remain lonely. Echoing silence, so loud it rang in my ears. Perhaps it would be different, had I accepted that letter; the letter asking me to dance.
To embrace someone, savoring each other in the moment full of adrenaline and music. Stepping on each other's feet, laughing at nothing but their company. To be instead, dancing this dance with someone.
But I remain here, dancing alone.

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“Dance, dance, dance,” I thought as I warmed up for my Olympic dressage horseback riding debut. Dressage was the dance of horses, the art of performing an intricate art with a partner who doesn’t speak your language while making it look like you aren’t doing anything. Many people think dressage isn’t a sport since it looks like the rider just sits there, but the rider is communicating with their horse the entire time. I trotted into the arena. I tried to contain my nerves as I saluted before starting my dance. We floated across the ground and every movement was accurate yet elegant. We danced around the arena every action executed unnoticed. Before I knew it was done. I threw my hands around my dancing partner, dressage is a team sport after all. As we walked out of the ring a bit of melancholy hit me, it was all over.

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A bird looks around to see clear skies and it starts dancing. Flapping its wings and twirling, then it jumps! Not as a part of its dance, so startled it flies off. He soon lands in a different clearing, completely clear. He is free to dance. He knows his risks in a clearing so he scans his surroundings when he knows he’s safe he dances again twisting and twirling. learning from his past mistakes he looks around while he dances. Never can be too cautious, but he stops and flies off. He lands in a completely unclear clearing speckled with people. In the middle of it all he starts dancing, twisting and twirling. A melancholy looking girl spots him and stares, and thinks for a bit and starts twisting and twirling with the bird, then everybody starts twisting and twirling except me. I was too exhausted from following a bird.

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Human history is quite melancholy, we go to war, we massacre, we remove what we do not like and destroy the environment.

Humanity will disappear from this universe in no time

You might think what about the good things, But I digress most are days of happiness corrupted, days for ends of war would not be needed if there was no war.

Christmas, Valentines and Halloween recred for money.

You might say blank is not melancholy, well you're wrong. Everything somewhere along the chain is Tainted by greed.

Humans are curious about the world that helped us become the dominant species on earth, but something much more powerful helped us get here greed.

But out there was something out there to show human history was not melancholy, dance! Dance did so many things like, like.

Nevermind, It didn’t really change anything.

-  A very concerned person who does not like dance

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The girl had nothing to do but sit at the tree every summer and read but today she felt differently about the tree. She kept staring at the tree blankly not knowing what to do while the melancholy ran through her veins. She quickly grew bored and  turned away to walk towards her house through the wooded path. She pulled her headphones out and put them on to listen to the music she loved. After the first verse started she couldn’t help but sing and dance around the path to her house. Music was her thinking place, finally she could feel the melancholy draining from her veins. As She twirled, She made sure her pulse aligned with the beat of the song. Tracing along the bark of the trees on the path. She reached the end of the path and took off her headphones to hear her name called “Harper!”.

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I am currently dancing around in circles. It felt like a never ending motion for some reason this thought had me fall into a deep feeling of melancholy. Even with this sadness that I’m carrying I kept dancing in the same circles eternally. For I was ordered to have this responsibility for this dance. Further into eternity in the same place I was still dancing but unlike the silence that was once heard was now replaced with the constant creaking of the wooden boards I am dancing on. Maybe me constantly participating in my dance of eternal circles has weakened the old and repeatedly used floors of this room; however I keep dancing, spinning in circles again and again yet the creak’s continue having crack’s appear making the floor of wooden boards look like shattered glass. All of the sudden the creak’s stopped and I was no longer doing my dance.

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I walked into the white door while holding flowers in my hand. Knowing this would be my last dance, I then walked up to her and handed her the red roses I had bought for her. As she took them she smiled slowly and walked to the middle of the corridors.

I followed her as she turned around holding her hand out for me to take it. As soft classic music played we slowly danced in silence. Her red stained dress matched my red tie I had worn. It felt as if we were the only two people in the world.

Suddenly we were interrupted and heard sirens and knew our fate was too good to last. As bullets were flying at us and as we turned towards each other saving one last glance. We slowly switched our eyes to the floor and saw what corpses would soon be us.

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My new husband and I soared across the dance floor while cake and wine were being served. Being told that this red wine was the best around, my love took a swing of wine before gliding onto the dance floor. Not wanting to ruin my lipstick, I sorrowfully turned it down. We swung across the floor and he spun me but let go. I turned to see why he stopped to see him staring down, having a melancholy look in his eyes. All eyes were on us as he collapsed. I ran to him hearing the sound of spilling wine and smashing glasses. All fell and the bloody criminal spilt and poured across the floor. I held my love tightly and cried into his shoulder as the sound of clopping heels approached me. His mother was the only one standing while she shoved the wine down me, saying, “Good night!”

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Here we go. We just jumped off the plane and now we are falling through the air. It was scary jumping out of the plane but someone was dancing in the air and someone had a very melancholy look on their face. We all could see the squares of land where the grass changed and I could see some farms around.

We all locked hands and we started spinning. I was so glad I didn’t get motion sickness because I was spinning and running in the air and throwing people for fun. Then one of my friends threw up for some reason so he pulled his parachute. Me and the others did not pull ours because we still had a long way from the ground, at least, that's what I thought. We continued to mess around until they all pulled their parachutes so I tried to pull mine, No luck.

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“What have I come to? Life just doesn't have meaning, it’s like nothing can make me happy. Like I just found out I have an incurable disease, but it never goes away. It hurts, it hurts so bad. I’m just getting tired of a terrible, hurting, sad, melancholy mood.

Life used to be fun, I used to dance like life wasn’t enough, now it’s way too much. I don’t have the energy to do anything but think about how I screwed up, how I didn’t do what I was supposed to. I’m sorry, but I just can’t go on any longer, food doesn’t have taste, I can’t breathe, I'm trapped under a never ending, infinite loop of pain and sorrow.

Please, tell me I’m good, tell me I haven’t fallen to rock bottom. Tell me food will start having taste. Please just tell me”. “Sir, you realize you’re the psychiatrist?!”

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The heart monitor ringed in my ears as my breathing labored. I stared at the ceiling knowing I would pass away any second. Instead, a happy, yet sad memory played in my head. “Wanna dance?” I remembered a cute, energetic boy that everyone loved, named Niko asking me to dance. Every melancholy place he went, it was like colors would follow him. I shrugged the question off, and started to walk away, but he grabbed my hand and tried to sway me into dancing with him. My mind started to wander off, and he seemed to notice my annoyance. The boy stopped, and kissed my cheek. A sudden burning sensation of happiness filled my entire body with euphoria, while he and I danced slowly to the rhythm of the muted sounds in our minds. The memory faded as I heard the rapid beeping decrease until the heart monitor stopped beeping.

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The melancholy Frisk stumbled upon a town, it was very cold. The town of “Snowdin”, of course Snowdin had snow! The snow danced around the town and swirled in the wind. “Woah!” Frisk gasped, “it’s so.. Beautiful.”

They wandered around the joyful town of Snowdin looking for some residents, until some snow stopped Frisk where they stand. “Oh.” They sigh, Frisk pushes, pulls, and hits the snow. But nobody came.

A lump of snow falls to the cold, icy soil, “a snowball?” They question. They have an idea, Frisk slowly pushes the small, white bundle of snow around in a patch of more snow. They continue until the snow is about 1/4th of their size.

They hurdle the chunk of snow at the wall of icy, cold snow. Boom! The wall collapses on Frisk and traps them under, “Agh!” Frisk shouts. “Somebody! Can anyone hear me?” But nobody came.

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I'm laying down with my cat who is right next to me. Then I realize I don't like this video and decide to change it. Teb (The name of the cat) is asleep by now so I start feeling around for the remote when I remember Teb is right on top of it.

As I'm trying to think of a way to get the remote I wonder ¨can i slip it out from underneath him¨.So, I tried but he woke up anyway. Im able to get the remote but at what cost, i lost my cat the one time he was calm.

So I changed the video I'm watching. But, something catches my attention. It's teb playing with a lego as he dances around the room with it. I want to laugh but I'm too melancholy to do so.Then teb jumps onto my bed and lays down.

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Faith and Macy, best friends of course, had planned a trip to the Grand Canyon. They had this trip planned for months.

Faith dances her way up. While Macy, well she was walking. She had always been melancholy at times. Ever since her mom passed, she’s been this way.  Sometimes she’d act up but Faith never really thought anything of it.

“Macy, this is amazing!” She said, “Um, yeah. Totally awesome.” It was hot and sunny. When they finally got to the top. They took in the view. Took a few pictures.

“Macy, will you take a picture of me for Instagram?”

“Yeah, sure”

That's when Macy grinned.

She snapped the picture and went to show Faith. As she walks over, she trips.

Sort of…

It almost looked as if she meant to. Macy bumped faith.

Then smiled.

Now off the canyon Faith fell.

“Finally, peace and quiet.” Macy whispered.

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There I was, alone, everyone left me, standing there. They all went to dance. I saw someone looking sad, so I went to try cheering him up, but I couldn’t. He was too melancholy. So I took him into the dancing circle so maybe everyone else could cheer him up and he just stood there. He ran out of the school crying and I quickly followed him, he was fast. He sat there on the curb, I asked him what was wrong and he didn’t answer for a while and then I heard, “I’m scared.” he said crying. I asked him why and he said, “I have never been to a school dance and I don't know how to dance.” don’t worry, I can teach you. “Really!” he said with joy. I showed him how to dance outside and then went back inside. He danced until the dance was over.

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The melancholy girl looks sickly at everyone dancing and singing. She feels her heart pound and her stomach gets queasy. Her face turns red at the thought of doing something embarrassing.

Her boyfriend walks up and asks her to dance. Her heart pounds harder,her chest feeling heavy. “What if I fall, or make someone else fall.”  Even with those thoughts, she went. A slow song plays and they start to dance. “OMG, is someone looking?”  Though she thought it was all in her head, everyone was staring. She twists and turns while looking her boyfriend in the eye. Both he and she lean in for a kiss. She feels her lips touch a cold, hard platform. Startled, she wakes up. “Lexi, Lexi” she drifts into focustp find herself in a classroom the entire time coming to realization of the unreal dream. Everyone laughs at her clumsiness. “Haha”.

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Slide was running around with the birds chirping and the sun glimmering in the sky and jumping on robots until he found a cave with glowing purple eyes and then it faded into darkness. He decided to go in and follow the eyes. While he walked through the cave with the sound of dripping water he realized why everyday is always the same and why he never grows up *CLANG* Slide looked back and saw a light of eyes and then it changed to purple and started to run with metal clanging each time it got closer. He then starts running, going deeper into the cave and not knowing where he is and then the clanging noise stopped. He looked left right and behind him there was nothing *Thud* Slide woke up in a black void and in front of him was a button saying retry “Care to try again?”

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The wind flips my hair in front of my eyes. As I’m moving it away, I see Buster. But it can’t be him.

He’s dead.

I bury my head in my knees. I don’t know how long I sat there, but all of a sudden, I hear a voice. “Why are you so melancholy-like?” I look up and see Josh. I roll my eyes. “Sorry, stupid question.” He says, sitting next to me.

We sit in silence for a while. Then, he grabs my hand and yanks me into the ocean. I’m soon engulfed by water. As I surface, I have a huge smile. Josh leans in close. I close my eyes, waiting for something to happen. But nothing ever does.

I open my eyes to see my bedroom and Buster dancing around me, his Austrainian Shepard blue eyes looking at me. I sigh, relieved.

It was just a dream.

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I held my breath as I hid in the tiny closet. There was someone in my house and I was home alone. I need to get out of the closet and fight back but, I feel paralyzed. Whoever it was behind that mask was about 6 ´ 5 and I knew I didn't stand a chance. As I was about to leave the closet I started to hear footsteps getting closer. With tears streaming down my face, I tried to find a space to hide behind clothes. I knew I was going to die, my phone was dead and I had no way to escape. As the footsteps got louder my breathing did as well. Before the person could open the closet door, I pushed it open as hard as I could and knocked them off their feet. I walked over and took the mask off to see my best friend unconscious.

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The sun blazed down on the lonely man in the desert searching for the most valuable treasure of all. His melancholy energy made his surroundings all the more barren. He thinks on how he stumbled on this adventure, looking at his lyre passed down generation by generation.

Tired, he sat down and played three beautiful notes repeatedly, recalling that the lyre was his only to find the treasure he had been yearning for.

The notes danced around the desert, lifting the melancholy mood. A smile was put on his face as everything around him started turning into bright wonderful colors.

Suddenly, a huge sandstorm formed, wiping all the beauty away. Certainly shocked, but also having a feeling of acceptance, with his last glimpse of the world, he saw a silhouette of himself playing the lyre. What music touched turned desert into gleaming grassland. He smiled looking at his valuable treasure.

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I didn’t know what I was doing. Sadie had gone missing 32 hours ago, what was I thinking, staggering around town until something happened? But I realized that worry had been fogging my mind. There was only one logical place Sadie would go if she ever ran away.

I approached the abandoned apartment building with my senses on full alert. We used to come dancing over here all the time when we were kids, but I still felt a feeling of unpredictability. I called her name. So many times. But the answer was always my own silence catching up to me. That was it. There was no other place I could think of that she would be. An eternal melancholy cloaked me from the outside world. Until I heard something, a scuffling in the corner. My heart felt like it was solid steel for a second. And there was Sadie.

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As I spy on the house, north of town I see them brewing. She cried because she knew this was the end, as the dead would come back for her soul instead. The rain danced around her, signaling that they would come back forever. The forest's melancholy mood grew darker and darker as the children grew near. You could hear their screams and cries for miles and miles on this dreary night.

The Witch who was scared for her life would soon become a big big fright. As tirelessly as she was she knew she had to hide.  So she trekked down stairs and hid in no light.

The front door opened and small footsteps creaked, but she knew she had something and she  knew she was free.

She swung open the door and flew into the night. For she knew that her magical and decorative broom saved her life.

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I opened the door and my parents were dead on the floor. I let out a yelp then dialed 911. I could barely talk. Moments later 2 cop cars and a few ambulances arrived. The police started investigating  I was sad but in denial, in other words, melancholy The sadness kicked in and I sobbed all night long.

In the morning, I went to the police station to see if they had gathered any evidence. When I walked in, an officer approached me. “ Mrs. James, We gathered  some evidence and we need to take you in for some questioning.” I did a little dance, happy we are one step closer in the investigation. He started asking the basics but one question popped out to me.

“Have or do you have any mental problems?” “Yes DID.” “We have reason to believe that your other personality has murdered your parents.” I gasped.

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I woke up to the sound of my daughter crying, it was late and I felt very melancholy due to a bad day. I walked down to her bedroom; she wasn’t there. Thunder clapped as her crying echoed throughout the house as if she was everywhere, nowhere. I ran around the house, trying to find her.

I could see her shadows dancing around the halls. My wife came downstairs to see what happened, she’s worried about me. “Our daughter is dead.” I remember, ever since she died I’ve been having relapses of that night.

I was driving home from her favorite restaurant on her birthday, we were joking around and didn’t see the drunk driver speeding toward us. We were hit very hard, the car was on fire and I was the only one who survived.

I woke up back in my apartment, alone. Both my wife and daughter, dead.

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At the school dance there was this girl that was melancholy. I felt bad so I started to walk over to her.
When I got over to her, I tried to make her laugh by doing a weird dance, but she didn’t laugh.
My friend and I tried to even fake a scene from a movie we saw, but she didn’t laugh. We grabbed a teacher nearby and told them to do something funny. When he did, my friend and I laughed but she did not.
All of us tried to make her laugh, but she wouldn’t laugh. My friend and I just gave up and walked away.
All of the sudden, there was a fire that started to happen. We all evacuated the building and everyone was wondering what happened. I look to my left and she is holding a lighter, and then she giggled then looked at me.

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A man rushed through the hospital ward, frantically searching for his ill fiance, who was not long for this world. He burst open the doors to her room, and ran inside. A TV was on, broadcasting a show with a little girl dancing. The man turned to his fiance, who was on his deathbed. She smiled, and said, “I always wanted to be a dancer when I was a child.”

The woman’s smile turned into a face of sorrow. A melancholy mood filled the small room. The man, holding back tears, said, “You still can.”

The lady replied, “No, you and I both know my days alive are numbered.”

The man rushed over to grab her hand, and in a soft, quiet voice, he said, “I love you.” She replied, “I know that.”

Her chest started to sink, tears flooded the man’s eyes, as her hand slipped from his grasp.

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The boy laid up in bed, Santa sitting next to him. Santa’s eyes were filled with tears.

The boy didn’t know why, so he asked, “Santa, why are you crying?”

Santa hesitated in his response. “One of my elves is very sick,” he said, sadness gripping his chest.

The boy gazed in awe at Santa. “But, I thought elves couldn’t get sick!” He exclaimed.

As sugar plums danced around them, Santa told the boy that elves are just like people, and can get sick too.

“Will the elf die?” The boy questioned.

Santa dipped his head to the floor, covering grieving tears. “He might.”

The boy looked down, the mood in the room changing from melancholy to overwhelming sadness. As the door to the room opened, and light filled the room of the boy, his mother walked in, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Jimmy, are you ready for your treatment?”

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My hands shake as I slide in the VHS. “The Winter Ballet Festival of 68’ ” A simple title, but it gets the job done. The screen flashes with static for a moment. Those dingy old VHS’s never play right. I give the TV a good smack, making my frail hands sting. The video finally plays. There’s a woman dancing, she’s smiling wide, face shining with glittery face paint. Every move she makes is calculated. She’s clearly dedicated. The music is something your grandma would play on a record player. Very melancholy, but she’s smiling wide. Suddenly I’m filled with an inexplicable rage. This woman took my place. I was the best dancer in the company. Now, however, I’m here. Watching the VHS everyday, not by choice. Everyday the cops make me watch a video of the woman I killed. Hoping I feel guilt. I don’t. All I feel is rage.

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It was a melancholy day. Kamri pulled into a parking lot. Unexpectedly a car pulls out in front of her. Kamri, lying unconscious in the hospital, wakes up to people surrounding her. She starts freaking out. The nurse told her she had gotten into a car accident. The doctor came into the room and said, “You are very lucky to be alive. You could have been dead if that car would have hit you any differently.” Kamri was in shock. Kamri said to the doctor, “How long will I have to wear a cast on my wrist?” The doctor said, “6 months '. Kamri was in shock. The doctor said she didn’t have to spend the night at the hospital and she could go home. Kamri got up and danced her way out of the hospital. The doctor told Kamri she can not do anything with her wrist for ten weeks.

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by Kaylia P. and Elizabeth O. of Pacifica, CA

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by Kaylia P. and Elizabeth O. of Pacifica, CA

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It was time for the theater period and the twins, Clare and Charlie sat in the auditorium waiting for the keyboard to connect. Their teacher, Mrs. Murphy was going to play a boring and melancholy song. One of their friends, Chloe, started dancing to the song. Charlie picked up some maracas and started gently shaking them side to side. Everyone copied Chloe and started dancing along with the music. The principal walked in just when they were at the climax of the song.

“Sorry to intrude, but Mrs. Murphy, please follow me.” Principal Gomez tapped her toe on the tile floor.

“Uh…. Charlie, make sure the class behaves when I’m gone. Ok?” Mrs. Murphy instructed.

“Yes mam.” Charlie stuttered. Mrs. Murphy nervously walked outside to talk to Principal Gomez. The nosy kid Nathan stuck his ear out the door. He choked.

“She’s fired for stealing from our school.” Everyone gasped.

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by Minseo Cha, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

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by Minseo Cha, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

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Dear Halmoni,

Hope Heaven’s treating you well.

I've been accepted to Paris and mom’s finally given in. I couldn’t have done it without you. Might’ve liked it more if you could be here to caroll… I didn’t like performing with the boy when you were gone - your voice is a wand capable of enchantment. Whenever I fell dancing, your tender voice would always caress me up. It was the sole remedy to all my bruises.

Halmoni, I will prove that - like how a star shines after its death - your influence will soon begin its flicker within me.

Love,

Brielle

Hey Diary,

Life's a warplane bombed by melancholy. Halmoni is gone and I’m alone, the Eiffel Tower having turned its back on me, I feel annihilated by the darkness of my loneliness.

I doubt the sparkle of the star will ever reach me.

Halmoni from Heaven whispered, “You be the star.”

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Final Waltz
A group of people dressed in black were gathered around the little grave, tear tracks lined their many faces. Nearby was a fountain, and on the edge of that fountain a girl was crying. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, and was so full of her sorrow, she didn’t even notice the figure approaching her. “Are you ready to go?” They asked, she didn’t know how, but she knew who they were. “No,” she replied, head still bowed in her knees. “Okay,” it was a silent gesture, a show that they would wait. So, together they waited. Then, with one last wipe of her eyes, she rose. “Care to dance?” Such a simple question, yet it carried so much weight. So they danced, it was a silent dance with no music but the wind blowing softly. This dance was gentle, melancholy, and wistful. Then she smiled, and they walked away.

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Danny was one of the top dancers in the world. So he thought if he didn’t practice at all he would still be at the top of the world. But unfortunately that’s not what happened. He went to sleep and started dreaming of Mc Donald's but then all of a sudden the Big Macs started to dance but not only were they dancing they were dancing and trying to get Danny. So Danny started to feel a bit melancholy. The Big Macs were trying to give him a needle that would turn him into a Big Mac. Then he started running away so he would not turn into a Big Mac. But then he got stabbed with the needle and then he turned into a chicken nugget nope not a Big Mac a chicken nugget. Then he woke up and realized he should still train and get better. The end.

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Even the air tasted free. I sat against a centuries-old tree, holding my wrists where the shackles had rubbed raw. But I wasn’t thinking about the pain. I was thinking about how for the first time in my life, I was responsible for nobody, responsible to nobody. For the first time, I was my own person. Not anybody else’s.
The trees danced in the wind, swaying as if to their favorite song. But the song sounds melancholy–an ode to those I have left behind. I trace a scar on my palm; one not from grueling work, but from my sister. A reminder, she said, that nothing could separate us, not forever.
Someday, we will be reunited. But for now I am free. Free from worry, free from guilt, free from the chains that bound me for so long. I can be myself, and the trees will dance for me.

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“It was exactly 3, and I was wondering about what happened. I was very melancholy, many days since I had heard from her- my girlfriend kilee- “ Is she done? Is she tired of me? What did I do? Am I a monster? Should I…” Then there was a sound, A bomb, I saw my fate. Death was approaching me, never had I heard such a sound or such a sharp pain, or the amount of cries. Did I mention I was on that bus? Anyways, all this danced through my mind. T was a nightmare. Next thing I knew, I’m falling out of the bus and onto the street. It felt like a gunshot to the stomach, but I didn't see anyone at that very time, Then I blacked out.” “Thank you,” said the officer with a sad and startled look. Then I drifted to heaven with my last breath.

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“Bella, why can’t you do this simple step?” the dance instructor yelled. “You really must try harder!”

I’m trying my best, Bella thought. It just seems to never be good enough for you.

The other dance students all giggled at her. They thought she was the worst dancer in the whole ballet class, that she never tried, and she was just terrible at it. But the truth was, she tried her hardest, her very hardest, but it was just so difficult, and she seemed to never get it right. And everybody else seemed to be doing it so easily.

“Alright, let’s keep going,” the instructor said. “One, two, three, one, two, three…”

Bella tried to dance in time with the music. But just as she thought that she was doing well, she always messed up.

She was never going to be good enough. This filled her with a melancholy sadness.

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Lights beaming down on the dance floor with elegant dancers prancing all around. The dance was wonderful but I couldn't help but feel a little melancholy because it was my sister up there instead of me.

I've been doing dance since I can remember but have had to take a break to let my sudden injury heal. The dance seemed so metaphorical that you could get so much meaning from it. It could mean whatever you defined it. To me it seemed so familiar that I could match almost every detail with my life.

The only person who understands my life is my sister, the one in charge of this dance. I wonder if she sees the resemblance I do. Walking out of the studio with a feeling of relief that people get it.

I can't believe I was so oblivious to the fact that the dance was about me.

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“Wait up!” I call to my little sister, Violet.

She’s already on the bottom step, her small feet prancing a dance over to the door.

“Hurry up, then,” Violet says, pulling on her sunflower yellow high-tops.

With my shoes on, I hurry out the door with her. The sky is gray and a sense of melancholy hangs in the air, but Violet doesn’t care. She pirouettes down our driveway and continues up our road with me following in her wake.

Being with Violet who jumps and spins and dances all the time, makes me feel almost as lighthearted, as if her colorful attitude is contagious.

And then she trips. Falls. Opens her mouth. Then comes the sharp lights of the trash truck.

I. Can’t. Reach. Her.

It’s all happening again, the memory, the day where everything shattered down to the ground. Back to the time when I lost my sister.

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The girl stared across the melancholy city-scape as rain danced across her window sill. She got up and opened her window a crack, she then took off her headphone and sat down on her bed with a book, she read of dangerous and daring adventures, and that made her boring foggy city even more dreary. Her roommate knocked on her door, and told her that her colleague was coming over, the girl nodded her head, acknowledging she would be cooped up in her room for the next couple hours. She she kept reading her book, and suddenly, it was dark out. She heard her roommate and their work friend laughing and talking downstairs, so she put on her headphones and drowned out the noise. Life felt more peaceful when she tuned out the noise, and she spent the rest of her evening staring out the window sill, pondering and thinking.

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It was early, the sun peaking over the thin array of clouds. I peered out the window of the truck to look at our world, while me and my dad drove up the canyon. Our bikes secure in the back looking shiny after their recent wash. Their names Shilla and Jeffery, have to name them to trust them! Finally we arrived at the trailhead and the sun was higher up in the sky. We put on our helmets and started to ascend. The morning dew on the shrubbery gave the air a dense feel. The leaves just turned to a yellow orange, fall was here. We reached the top of the trail then receded down the other side. Jump trails… smooth,  my favorite. 2 miles in, put my heart, mind, and soul into sending this jump. Suddenly flying, 34mph, falling, no bike, ground, black. Remember we do this for fun.

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Kaden was the best dancer on the Brooklyn Middle Dance Team. She was always the lead in all the dances her turns and jumps were amazing like a swan on water. That all changed when her parents split, her father went to jail for 10 years for abusing Kaden and her mother when he was drunk. After Kaden’s Mom fell behind on the bills, got three jobs and was still struggling to supply dinner every night. Her life changed she stopped putting on a smile for herself, stopped dancing, and stopped pretending that she was fine. She leaped in a melancholy black hole she started getting depressed she never thought   her life was good enough, and never though she was enough. Her life felt like she was on stage having to put on a smile to look happy. Dancing through pain never knowing when to stop, until you just collapsed.

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It was like March 22nd of last year, and the year before. March 22nd was always cloudy and rainy, the sky covered by clouds in a dark shade of grey as the rain poured down on the grass in a quick, yet steady rhythm. As the rain fell, it knocked off the petals blooming on the cherry blossom trees.

As the petals descended, twirling, swaying, and dancing in the breeze, she approached the gravestone holding a bouquet of orange lilies. Orange lilies were Ellie’s favorite flower, and as she knelt and gently placed the flowers on Ellie’s grave, she reminisced about their time together -- their fond, now bittersweet memories.

She was alone now. The sudden sadness, the melancholy that came with that thought, overwhelmed her, as if she was drowning in an ocean. She slowly got up to leave, as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Four years had passed, yet time had not soothed her anguish.

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Sitting at the bus stop, waiting in the pouring, melancholy rain, I put on my headphones and try to drown out the world with music. The news was shocking, no one would have ever expected it. My best friend, and girlfriend, Elena, has recently passed away due to complications after a suicide attempt. All I’ve felt recently is numb, and reminiscent and regretful. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Memories flood back to me, dancing in the kitchen, late night talking, our first kiss. It makes me smile a little knowing the beautiful life she had, but all the underlying pain she just couldn’t handle anymore. I can’t stop thinking about how, if in any way I could have helped her or prevented it from happening. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, a full life ahead of her, yet it was cut short.

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Going to get a glass of punch, I felt melancholy. But this was my prom, so why did I feel so left out? Maybe it was because I was here alone, well ten minutes ago I wasn’t. But my friend left with her boyfriend. So here I am, trying to figure out what to do. While my classmates danced in beautiful gowns and tuxedos, I stood watching in my red and black tuxedo dress. Yes, a tuxedo dress. In my opinion they’re amazing, but no one else seems to see what I see.

Some of the guys asked me to dance, but I said no. Sighing, I took a sip of my punch when somebody tapped my shoulder.There stood a girl with purple hair and a beautiful blue dress. I blushed when she smiled. And then something magical happened, she asked me to dance, and I couldn’t say no.

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“Hello! Hello? Is anyone out there?” I yelled. I can’t find anyone. I’m all alone in the woods, I don't know how I got here. The leaves look to be dancing in the wind, while I'm here, feeling a little melancholy. It almost seems like the leaves are mocking me wih their happy, dancey selves.

“Hello! I think I am lost! Somebody help me! Please!” I continue to yell.

Nobody answers.

I’m alone again. I’m always alone. Maybe that is why I am here. Yeah, I think that is it. I am going to stop yelling, nobody is out here to help anyway. There is no point in yelling. I start to walk backward when I fall. I fall and fall and fall, it seems to never end. Again I’m alone and scared, help..

“Bella!! Are you okay,” asked my parents, “Why are you screaming?!" “I'm alive?” I woke up.

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We were dancing in the moonlight. What a lovely moment, but it didn’t last. Now’s the time.

“It was traumatizing! I watched him get jumped. I called the cops, but they didn’t make it in time.” I cried. My acting skills are amazing.

His parents had seen the report and planned a funeral. They sent me the information, as they knew I must be “devastated.” I made sure to let them know that I would be there.

They mustn’t find out.

I entered the room and instantly felt the cloud of melancholy floating around the room. There was crying in every direction. I brought back the fake cry.

They mustn’t find out.

I took a peek in his casket, knowing I’ll never be sorry for what I did. Yes, my sob story was fake. So what if I killed him? It doesn’t matter, it would have happened anyways. Nothing matters.