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The Performer
The Performer

© Aravind Sudheer Babu


3 Minutes   18.9K    270

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What started as a muse, became a regular thing for her. Swinging and whirling around the ecstatic ones, never showing signs of tiredness. How would her life progress through? once being a regular in this lifestyle, she was unaware. Not bothered for sure. Whenever she performed, except for her, everyone in the vicinity were lost in happiness and joy.

Bland, emotionless, dead-like thoughts floated her mind, even while she showed the exact opposite to the crowd. So thorough in her moves, and trademark jiggles and swings, it all came from her muscle memory, helping her to forget about the fact that she was even performing.

Rice and a loaf of bread were the images passing through her mind. For she had to choose among the two, and this day also, she is not going to make the choice for her. Payments for performances often got delayed due to various reasons, and as a result most of the days she would starve herself by only being able to buy food enough for her children. The performance came to an end with an astounding and reverberating round of applause and roar. While the audience clapped feverishly, she slid in a complete bow to the audience and retreated back to her camp, releasing her facial muscles after holding it tight and upright for 7 minutes. A great performance without any perverted request seemed awkward and not normal in the club. Shooting down the customary requests and offers from the audience, she drifted to her couch to close her eye lids for a quick power nap.

She woke up in a bright country side, that was so lush in greenery that the place looked like heaven. Meadows, paddies, farms, and big wood houses. Sounds of tractors puffing and chuffing here and there from 7 in the morning. Kids giggling and playing as if they were in the height of their excitement. Her husband came by in his tractor, proudly, showing off his crops to his children and elders. She came by, called them in, as breakfast was ready. ‘What’s for dinner, Mama?’ asked 4-year-old Tristian. And she replied

‘Rice and….’.

Rice. Rice.. Rice…

‘Lexi.. Lexi… LEXII, WAKE UP!! It is your performance next’, shouted the program manager out through his throat shaking her vigorously. Waking up startled and confused, she quickly realised in sorrow that she slept off again, peacefully, as she was able to dream about her life 5 years ago. Letting out a deep sigh, she stood up, got to her dressing table and looked up at the small newspaper cut out stuck on the mirror.

“Queensland family evicted! Husband jailed for forgery.”

A healthy amount needed to be paid in damages which crippled the family and threw her husband in jail. She didn’t bat an eye lid, as she read the cut out for the 2000th time. She bent down, buffed her face, marked her eye shadow, stroked her lips in red lipstick, squeezed her bosom, bulged her cleavage, erected her facial muscles to her killer and charming smile and she went in.

Lexi was her stage name.

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