The Catt Box
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The Somerset Dance Center in New England was busting with excitement with the new students for the year. The older students made the new girls feel welcome and they introduced themselves to one another.
The class was filled with girls with names like Stephanie, Autumn, Brittany, Amber, Jennifer, Courtney, Ashley, Kayla, Alexis, Jessica, Mandy, Megan, Nicole, Jasmine, and Brianna.
The air was fragrant as it blew through the doors with the entrance of each student.
New beginnings were always so much fun at the dance studio....the year held out re-newed hope and new dreams. The world's future dancers would practice their skills, bonds of friendship would be formed, and memories would be made.
Christine, the dance instructor and owner of the studio, gathered the girls and began to explain the rules and requirements to the class.
Just then, the door burst open and there stood the last student to sign up for classes.
She was late.
She announced that her name was BethDeath.
She was a young girl who had been sent there from the Juvenal Detention Center.
The skies grew dark and a gust of wind rushed in and swirled around her feet. A crack of thunder and a bolt of lightening sent chills up the spines of the girls....those pretty girls in pink tulle netting tutu skirts and white leotards.
The long pale blonde hair on each little student was swept up in a neat bun on top of their head, and graceful tendrils of golden wisps framed their innocent faces. Their rosy cheeks glowed and their wide blue eyes blinked as they awaited what would happen next.
The studio was completely silent and everyone held their breath.
This was a night that no one would soon forget. It was the night that BethDeath came to class. She had signed up for Wednesday classes, and from this day forward the teachers would refer to this day of the week as Black Wednesday.
BethDeath stood in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity. She glared at the gaggle of girls as they held each other tight and looked at BethDeath from the sides of their frightened eyes.
Someone coughed from the back of the room, and no one moved a muscle.
BethDeath rolled her eyes and thought to herself, "Peach people. Look at all these peachy-looking girls with their perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect friends."
BethDeath then proceeded to walk across the floor and join the class.
She stood close to a few shivering girls and broke the silence by leaning over and whispering, "Ya wanna see my tattoos?"
One of the frightened girls voided herself and began to cry. She had to be excused.
Christine took a deep breath, sighed, and braced herself for a long evening.
During the initial sign-up for these classes, the girls had been given a sheet of paper listing the things each girl would need for class, including the fact that pink and white would be the signature colors of the students.
BethDeath definitely stood out in her stark black attire.
She paid no attention to such requirements.
She was a full 26 inches tall, towering over the shorter girls by far. Her ballerina dress looked more like she was preparing to attend a funeral, not a dancing class.
The 'funeral', so to speak, was what Christine referred to as the end of their class as they knew it.
Christine began to explain the plie movement. "When you plie, don't bend your knees but stretch out of your hip joints and release your knees out to the sides. You should not be sitting in your plies but rather stretching down and reaching up-- as you go down, your upper body grows taller, and as you come up, you reach your heels into the floor before your straighten your knees.
Remember, a plie is a movement, not a position."
Everyone was cooperating, except for BethDeath. She merely tapped her little black-ribboned feet, cracked her gum, and rolled her eyes.
Christine stopped the class and looked at BethDeath. She stood there, staring at everyone. Her long black tulle netting skirt was gently swaying. Her black attire was beautiful, in it's own way.
Apparently BethDeath didn't like showing much skin. She even wore long black satin sleeves.
As Christine began to speak, BethDeath glared and then hissed at her.
She actually hissed like a cat at Christine!
The other girls slowly moved away from BethDeath. They gazed upon her like she was an alien, and perhaps she was, to them.
She wore black satin bloomers and black ribbons that were tied at her ankles. She also wore black leg warmers.
The girls in the class were not familiar with Goth.
As the girl's eyes moved upwards and they saw her black flower on her bodice, they almost smiled. The black flower wasn't too bad. But as they continued upwards, they couldn't help but to shrink back as they caught sight of the heart with thorns and roses that hung from the black satin that enveloped her neck.
They couldn't help but wonder what THAT meant!
BethDeath didn't follow any of the rules set down by Christine. She didn't even wear her black hair up in a bun, as was required. Instead, her black string hair was stiffened and was adorned in black flowers.
And those eyes. It was all anyone could do to look at BethDeath's eyes. They were made of vintage buttons with dark shadow surrounding them. And her wide red and white ticking mouth was almost like a grimace.
BethDeath also carried an unusual wand. She held a rusted Heart In Hand wand.
The other girls were deeply confused.
Christine decided that the best thing to do would be to distract the girls by having everyone go to the barre for their exercises.
BethDeath stood her ground and didn't move. Christine spoke firmly to her and directed her to join the class.
Just then, BethDeath's wide mouth began to quiver. Her eyes looked glassy, and it seemed like she was going to break down and cry.
Christine dealt with this sort of hormonal hell all the time. But it was a good sign to think that BethDeath would soften.
However, as Christine stepped closer, BethDeath's mouth opened and she let out a full hiss and a growl.
As the weeks went by, things grew worse. Christine tried working on a few shows for this summer's productions. BethDeath didn't participate. As Christine announced the principle dancer for Swan Lake, BethDeath could be heard to say, sarcastically, "You mean Swan FAKE."....and then she nearly fell-out snickering.
The principle dancer promptly quit and left in a huff.
Dance classes turned into little more than crying-jags among the girls.
It was no secret that BethDeath hated everything about ballet class.
She was never going to be a delicate little ballerina.
For the love of GOD! .....we must rescue Christine and the other girls from BethDeath. It would be greatly appreciated if you could find a nice place to 'hang' BethDeath in your home. Put her in a place where she can stare at things that won't cry and leave the room in a huff.
Do these logs make me look fat?
Copyright © March 21, 2004 and January 30, 2005 Cathy Palmer-Scruggs / Catt Alexander
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A very special thanks to Chris for the inspiration.
A super special thanks to eBay seller imosh for the heart pendant.
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My dolls are not for everyone, they are my art. If you are offended, I suggest you hit the back button. It will not do you any good to write me 'hate mail'.
In spite of the dolls I create and the stories I write, I do not use recreational drugs, I don't smoke cigarettes, and I don't even drink alcoholic beverages.