The Ballerina and the Revolutionary

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The Ballerina and the Revolutionary by Milla V http://smarturl.it/Ballerina. Vivienne realizes she is dying. All she wants to do is see her daughter Giselle one last time and apologise. But Giselle no longer exists and it is Crow, a gender-queer anarchist who returns to a family home that is plagued by ghosts and violent memories. Crow unravels terrifying secrets, hoping to find closure at last. Can anyone survive the shadows that lurk behind the fairy tales? Photo by Joe Armitage www.boneshakerphotography.com with Amy Selina.

Excerpt

“My name was Crow. I was nineteen years old and had spent most of my life trying to escape all forms of hierarchy, most accurately portrayed for me, by the image of the matriarch, i.e. my crazy mother.

Mother’s name was Vivienne. We didn’t look alike, we didn’t act alike and we certainly didn’t think alike. Vivienne was a prima ballerina before she gave birth to me and I had all the grace of an elephant. She wore long, floating skirts and big jewellery, while I felt more comfortable in combats and t-shirts and hated the long hair she made me wear as a child, that symbol of begrudging femininity that never felt comfortable. My head was shaved now, much easier.

As far as I could remember I had always hated her, and she me. I never figured out what she wanted from me and simply assumed it was my unhappiness. Once free of her oppression, I naturally transferred this simmering animosity to other unworthy authority figures, but things were rarely as simple as they seemed.

I survived the blow from the shield, although the crowd were moved on and the building cleared. A pity really, another community space handed over to the rich elite. It made my head spin. I never understood the principle of profit over people. There were a lot of things I didn’t understand, but in the end I was a fighter and I guess I existed outside of society. It was easier that way, less complicated, and I could keep my priorities in check. I liked to think of myself as a freedom fighter, like my dad. The squat had everything I needed and I did a bit of this and that to make enough money to feed myself. That was all I had ever wanted – to survive and be free.
That’s why I left home when I did, at thirteen.”

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