Tip Toe

Tip and a toe. That's how I tried to get rid of nervousness. It's not normal nervousness, there's a mix of happiness from it. They came to see me. I don't know how far they traveled just to see me perform, and yet here they are. Tip and a toe. A single peak from the corner and I saw them, waiting for me. They are my special crowd; They are Mother's friends, my friends, too. I must get close to my mother. I need to put every last drop of effort into this performance.

Tip and a toe. Tiptoe; That's how I entered the stage.

Nervousness won't hold me back.

Tip and toe, spin and twirl, raise one arm, keep the other to my hips, then bow. Cheers. They adore me. They cheer and praise. I am surprised I kept my balance while wearing these heels. It's only the entrance, yet their gazes put a lot of pressure on me. There's no holding back from here; I will give it my all.

Tiptoe, spin, step to the side, then go back. Raise one hand, and lower the other. Gracefully take a step to the side, spin, put down both of my hands then make a flip; Bow.

Calm yourself, that's what I told myself. It's still the beginning; the performance art will start when I pull out my brush. My mother gave me this brush, among other things. I pulled it out.

Flick it with my finger and let it spin on my right hand. Run, swipe it inside the bucket and pull it out, careful not to spill the expensive paint. Continue running, dashing. Spun while I do so, twirls and tiptoes, jump and land, keep the paint on the brush, and spread my arms.

Let the brush touch the wall of the stage; for it's my canvas. Turn it into a work of art. I felt a splash on my cheek. My brush drops. Is this a tomato? It's warm. The crowd is upset. Their eyes show boredom, no, anger. Cheers turn to boos.

Is that Richard? He enters the stage along with his group of friends, our friends. Richard is angry with a mix of disappointment. He's looking down at me.

Am I... A disappointment?

It's been so long since I heard that word from my mom. I cannot let her say it one more time.

I crouched, picked the brush, and jumped back. The paint is all dried up. I dash and run, but that's not only it. I spin around and twirl, tip, and a toe, tip and a toe, tip toe, as I head over towards the next bucket.

Lower the brush inside, and let it touch the paint before pulling it back out and continuing running. Paint the whole stage, and turn it into my art using this special brush of mine. The booing was replaced by cheering. They cheer for me; they adore me; they love me. Then, I stop. My art, an art born from my performance, it's done. The crowd is speechless.

"That's what you should aim for, the moment when only silence fills the stage" That's what my mother told me again and again. Raise one arm, let the other rest at my hips, and bow. There's some paint on my clothing, but that doesn't bother me one bit.

Tip and a toe. Tip and a toe. Tiptoe. Then, leave.

It's a failure. A few days have passed and Richard no longer meets with me. I can feel Mother's anger and disappointment. She's avoiding me. Reliving the past isn't going to help me in any way. I should prepare for my next performance. I should prepare for my next art. This time, Mother would be proud.

*********

Investigator Noel enters the room, sits by the computer, and boots it up. Hand at the mouse and move it till the cursor stops at the CCTV. She took a gulp. She felt cold despite the lack of an air conditioner. She doesn't want to visit it again, but she needs to progress. A double click, then the feed shows the recorded video.

"It's horrible..."

Her training prepared her for this, but the reality almost caused her to throw up.

At the monitor is the killer of 36th and 27th street, dodging blades and bullets, taking life with a swipe of her blade, and painting the street red.

A single click and the feed paused. Scroll the wheel up and it zooms. There, a blade she gave to her best friend who's now a husk of her former self. Regret.

"I shouldn't have brought you to all of this… I shouldn't. Why? Why had I denied it when everything points to you? Why…"

Tip and a toe. Tip and a toe. That's how she enters the place, and that's how she leaves it.

Tip and a toe. Tip Toe. That's the nickname she earned.