You are on page 1of 1

Hope Sailer AP Lang Radley 6 Nessa, wearing a faded yellow t-shirt leans against the wooden banister and

her left hand scrolls through YouTube looking for a song to dance to while her bobby pin holds back the mahogany tinted highlights from her face. The phone rests on the banister while Nessa pulls back her right fist into a tight clench, capturing the energy of her movement and releasing it through the force of her left palm pushing out in front of her. Her legs are steady and bent into the ground and a swirled orange and pink sky casts a light over the wooden patio. One knee now rests on the ground near a dog speckled in brown and black patches that sleeps as she pulls out a fist that wraps into a snail like shell in line with her eyes that stair straight ahead laughing in line with the three white stripes of her Adidas sweat pants that curve from her hip to thigh. Her ballet flats covered in silver flowers pound into the ground near the empty fluffed and woolen dog bed and for a moment she looks like a flamingo with one leg firm on the ground and the other bent with her foot cocked forward. In darkness, her arms fall limp to her sides as she spins while her hair creates an orb of black and red and brown commotion extending outwards past the length of her shoulders. Slower now, her eyes look ahead. A streak of brown tucked behind her ear matches that of her pupils. Her black hair in the dark night illuminates her pale complexion. The movements continue and her arm reaches behind her body where the dog now sits with incandescent eyes. They look out onto the yard that sits in front of the beige—wooden frames, glass windows, French doors. Her hand grips the phone and her eyes look down focused at the screen as the music turns off. She turns and reaches for the door and while her fingers grip the iron knob, her right foot steps forward past the threshold and into the darkness of the house.