Here's something we haven't had in a while.. (can you tell I love variety?) a short story! Here's part one of two of a story I wrote a year and a half ago. (I'm not quite sure how the formatting's going to work but I'll do my best)

Each and every year at Madame Perdue’s School of Dance, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana she and the other teachers host an enormous recital. The smallest, newest children always perform first, working right on up to the oldest, most talented students. These teenagers are amazing dancers, prima ballerinas, as well as masters of jazz, tap, hip-hop, and modern. Their act is always the finale, the piece the whole auditorium waits for. At one recital, during this finale, standing between the heads of the tall, slender girls, is a shorter, somewhat stouter figure. An uncharacteristically loud buzz fills the auditorium; both the teachers and the dancers themselves have prepped each and every guest for a silent, “no flash photography” show (and please turn off your cell phones at this time). They leaf through their programs, attempting to place this mysterious little girl, who looks no more than three or four.
As the girls begin to dance it soon becomes apparent that the little girl can do more than keep up with the other girls more than twice her age. In fact she surpasses them, rising to be the star. The crowd stares transfixed at that small light-footed figure center-stage. Most of the audience knew beforehand that they oldest class would be performing the Dance of the Sun. Less of them knew that a girl of four would be performing in the finale. Fewer still knew her name. But none of them knew that her life under that name would be quite shortly lived. Only her ballet teacher has a criticism of her dance; she did not look as if she enjoying herself, she never smiled. When the small girl hears this she looks shocked and nods her head earnestly.
~
A girl walks quickly and confidently towards center stage. The curtain is down. Impatiently, she waits for the music to begin. The curtain rises. A loud rap beat fills the crowded auditorium. Sunshine begins to dance. She pirouettes and leaps, combining hip-hop and ballet. Flirting with the audience she throws them a kiss. They roar back. Someone screams out their love for her. Just for them she puts a bit more height into her next jump, letting her blond hair fly out, around her. A smile never seems to leave her flawlessly glossed, moisturized face. Her looks, as well as her dancing, are perfect. She runs downstage, as the back-up boys come in. In one smooth motion Sunshine is lifted off the ground.
The audience marvels at how easy it looks, how spontaneous. The audience doesn’t see a bracelet on one of the other dancer’s arms scratch hers. Sunshine never blinks. She performs the rest of her routine with equal flawlessness, skillfully covering the bright cut on her arm. She throws in an aerial at the end because she is in that kind of mood. Lighthearted. Joyful. Sunshine always is. The music fades away and Sunshine bows, blowing more kisses and waving to her fans. She’s still smiling. The curtain drops and Sunshine disappears.
~
In her place is Cecilia. There is no smile on her face. In fact she is trying not to cry, her arm is still bleeding from the other dancer’s bracelet. She does not walk with confidence but cowed, as if expecting someone to yell at her. A woman walks in. Her heavy make-up and frequent die jobs can’t quite hide how often her face and hair have been subjected to many “improvements”. Cecilia looks up at fearfully. The woman is tall.
“Sunshine, darling, that was wonderful.”
The woman’s voice says the words; in an absent-minded way as if she does not mean them, they have been said so many times. Cecilia knows she doesn’t mean them either. She barely looks up. She knows what’s coming next.
“But where did that last aerial come from? We’d never rehearsed that now did we, dear? And your hair was really is getting a bit long, isn’t it? We’ll set up and appointment to fix that.”
Cecilia thinks about arguing, explaining that she actually likes her hair the way it is, but thinks better of it. Her mother would never listen.
“And I’m really thinking, Sunshine, that your makeup just isn’t quite showing up enough, so we’ll ask Stacy if she could please do it just a bit darker next. Won’t that be better, dear? And don’t forget, we need to put in just a few hours of exercise before bed. We’ll work of our strength building. And, Sunshine-“
“My name is Cecilia.”
Cecilia says that words, unusual force for someone who appeared so timid.
“Don’t be silly. Your Sunshine, you know that. Now, there are a couple of other moves John thinks we should work on, so we’ll be going to the gym…”
Mrs. Solaris drowns on and on, reciting a list an endless of tasks that need “their” attention. She and Cecilia exit the great auditorium, after collecting their bags. They hail a cab and ride to their, new posh penthouse, so handy to Cecilia’s new school, The NYC High School of Visual and Performing Arts. They didn’t always live here. Just six months ago they were living in Baton Rouge, where Mr. Solaris owns a successful factory. He comes up to visit them every third weekend but Cecilia can’t remember when they did anything un-dance related on the weekends. In Louisiana she attended a regular a high school, kept a fairly normal schedule and actually had time for friends. But Thea D. thought it would be best for her daughter’s career if they moved to New York. She said that Sunshine needed new opportunities that could only be found in the Big Apple. No one ever asked Cecilia’s opinion. She kept quiet. She’d learned long ago that her mother was not interested in what she had to say. Cecilia hates New York. There are only two other things she hates more than NYC. Sunshine and dance.