The White Opera

In a world that’s falling apart, Lillia Jane seeks to find the light. Dancing is her soul and passion, but it isn’t always the answer to her problems. She witnessed the murder of her best friend Sophie and won’t be forgetting the feeling of isolation any time soon. Lillia’s parents have moved to Queensland for the summer so now it’s just her and her older brother Brian, as they embark on an amazing adventure through Sydney Australia.

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1. Death's Hands

 

Why was life so hard sometimes? I mean, define the word depression. Intense sadness? An Illness? Maybe. I can’t really explain it sometimes but I really want to. I need to.

I hear the ambulance coming and curl up into a ball. I let my hair fall over my face as I sob into my tank top. I can’t bear to look at her anymore, I can’t bear to think about it. But the scene is set on replay in my mind. The people in the green vests rush into my house and take her. They take her away from me forever. “NO! PLEASE! DON’T TOUCH HER!” I am a mess, I can’t help but shake. My words seem to roll over each other, and then come out tangled and slurred as if I am drunk.

My brother eventually finds me and pulls me in for a hug. But I’m not in the mood. “Lillia it’s gonna be ok.” he says soothingly, but somehow I don’t believe him. “Come on. I know you can be brave.” My knees wobble and my balance relies entirely on Brian’s arms around me.

“MY BEST FRIEND JUST DIED BRIAN!” I scream, “SHE’S DEAD AND SHE IS NEVER COMING BACK.” I break down and run to my bedroom. Nothing will ever be the same, nothing is going to be alright. I hear my parents talking to the police outside. I hate them all for being so calm, for not even caring about who just died. All they want to know is how it happened. And who really gives a crap about what happened anyway? They are all supercilious in my eyes.

All I want to do is escape. Or die. Dying sounds like a really satisfactory choice at the moment. I try to pull myself together, I think I am going crazy. I grab my ballet shoes and head out the front door. As I storm past everyone, people try to stop me. “Get off!” I say in a muffled voice. “Get off me, I need to get away!” my parents let go as if they know what I am going through. But how could they possibly know?

I run straight for the academy. Now I know that I am going crazy, who dances after their best friend dies? Obviously me. I put the slippers on my tiny feet and play track 3. The music is so loud the walls are shaking, but I don’t really care if they break and fall on me. I sway in time to the music, letting all my troubles go. I storm through the clouds with not a worry in the world.

My feet take me across the room with ease. I feel like a beast in a haunted forest. I imagine that my ripped jeans and tank top are a tattered black dress, flowing behind me as I emerge into war with death. I am no longer in Adelaide, my hometown, I am in death’s hands.

Someone comes into the room and I snap back into reality. Dread swallows me and I cocoon back into my original squat position in the corner, rocking back and forth. The woman comes up to me and sits on a stool beside me. She is my ballet coach and I feel disgraced to be in her presence like this. “That was beautiful” she says reassuring me, “I have seen what happened on the news-.”

 “So it’s already on T.V?” I cut in, disgusted. “Yes” she replies in a solemn voice, “Sometimes emotions like that make a true dancer, holding them in for so long then spilling them into that sort of movement. It’s healthy you know?” I keep my lips pursed and dare not say anything. So she leaves me alone. I grab my stuff and walk back home, making sure to take my time.

In the living room, I see Brian and his girlfriend Tia attached like leeches on the couch. He is quite tall so he has to bend down slightly to reach her.

“Get a haircut would you?” I state, just to break the awkward silence. I’m not in the mood for anymore comments, so I retreated back to my room again. My life is a wreck but there is nothing I can do about it really. For some people their lives fall into place for them. Everything is perfect for them, they might get married, have children, find a home, travel around the world, stuff like that. But everything is different for me. It’s sort of like God has chosen to hate me. My parents are Catholic and insist that I am a child of God and I am accepted into his family. Why do I get the feeling that they are lying?

So let me tell you what depression truly means. It is a black pit, never ending, hollow, lonely, torturing, mocking, everything bad you can ever think of…but worse. 100 times worse.

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