The Gray Dancer

01. SECOND CHANCES

IT WAS THE DAY HANNA LEE HAD BEEN WAITING FOR.

For most people, the day's significance was rather trivial, but that wasn't the case for Hanna. She had been looking forward to today for a long time. A second chance was on the line for her. The possibility of a redo, turning back time to the past once more.

Hanna's eyes darted to the ragged grandfather clock on the far end of the floor. It stood there, ticking. Its golden pendulum rocked back and forth with each second.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The grandfather clock drew Hanna into its gaze, hypnotizing her. It allowed Hanna to forget. It allowed Hanna to escape the hell she had been thrown into. It gave her the hope to break free from the abyss.

Hanna stared at the antique frame made to last generations. It mesmerized her, but she didn't know why. Something about the mahogany wood drizzled with scratches intrigued her. The fact that the old clock had lasted all these years inspired her. It still held firm and tall.

Hanna ran her hand through her curled raven black locks. She grabbed at the ends of the styled hair, pulling the ends to ease the stress.

It was at times like these that her evil thoughts flourished.

"Hanna." A light giggle echoed in her mind, "How's dancing going?"

Hanna bit her lip—hard. She blinked, closing her eyes then reopening them just as quickly. How was dancing going? Hanna shook her head, attempting to push back her thoughts that threatened to surface. She didn't want to be discouraged again.

"Oh, Hanna." It carried on despite Hanna's cries, "Isn't dancing why you're in this mess?"

Hanna pressed her lips together into a thin line. If she never danced, things would have been different. If she never fell in love with dancing, her life would be different. Maybe if she had never pursued dance Hanna wouldn't have been such a failure.

"Such a pity. Dancer Hanna, sitting behind a desk."

The voice wasn't wrong either. Hanna knew it held a truth to each one of its bitter words. It possessed a harsh reality. Hanna should have known she wouldn't have made it. She could have made her life better. She got herself into this mess, and now she couldn't escape.

She was stuck in her self-inflicted maze.

Hanna's head slumped over her work desk. She wanted to bang her head against the desk to heal the pain manifesting and growing inside her with fury. How had everything gone wrong? Days turned into months, and months turned into years, but Hanna continued to practice. She spent more than millions of minutes perfecting her every move. What did she amount to?

Nothing.

Hanna ended up behind a computer. She had a desk job, working as an accountant. Her life revolved around the tiny Macbook air that was assigned to her by her manager. Her dream of being a dancer was gone, just like that. Her blood and her tears, every ounce of strength she used to dance, had gone to complete waste.

Hanna sacrificed everything for dance. She lost a family for a broken dream. She should have known that she would fail. Failure only rammed her insecurities into her face again and again. They reminded her of the pathetic person she was. They proved everything she needed to know about herself. They highlighted her uselessness. The list went on for miles.

Hanna broke out of her headspace. Her eyes fixed onto her phone just a few centimeters away from her. Her phone rested on the bland wooden desk that she spent the majority of her day on. Her little cubicle in the corner of the building was almost her home. She spent eight hours on average at her office doing anything but dancing.