Author's Note: This page is not for published pieces, I am simply doing daily writing in the form of a stream of consciousness.
Scene/Prompt: You are standing backstage, waiting to emerge from behind the curtains onto the stage for your first show.
Many thoughts race through my mind, each one questioning my ability of what I am about to accomplish on the very stage in front of me. Sounds of tap, tap, tap, swoosh coming from the stage fill my ears. Carefully, I peek through the curtains and watch each dancer sweep their talent across the stage. Each step they take, every leap they make; there bodies are like a paint brush creating a work of art. The stage is simply the backdrop, the canvass, to their masterpiece.
As I attempt to run through my dance in my mind, I just get more and more unsure of myself. My thoughts fill with only the worst of what could happen. But when I hear the my music start, a whole different person inhabits my body. I become strong, confident, and I know that I can do this; I will execute each step with precision. This dance will be a reflection of me, and I will dedicate every ounce of myself to it, because I don't just want to dance -- I need to dance. 
Scene/Prompt: It is winter time; snow is falling from the sky and completely covering the ground.
Intricate, white, shapes -- numerous sizes -- spinning and tumbling, descending from the sky. Each one piling onto the next, blanketing the ground like a white carpet that stretches for miles. Staring outside my window, I long for the days when my sister and I threw on our snow-pants, hats, gloves, mittens, jacket -- not caring at all what we looked like. So carefree -- so happy just to be playing outside. Creating snow angels on every inch of our lawn, and forts worthy of a king. Determined not to go inside until we were completely satisfied with our work, only surrendering when our hands were practically frostbitten and snow was packed in our clothes. Eager to be inside, eager to be in the warmth of our own home, we throw off our boots and sprint inside. Mom immediately sends us down to the basement to hang our snowy snow-pants. When we come back upstairs, two wonderful, sweet cups of hot chocolate await us. Letting the smooth chocolate warm my lips, I reminisce on my fun-filled day with my sister. Lost in my flashback, I envy those days.
Red, orange, yellow -- falling,
slowly drifting to the ground
leaving trees baron
My legs move, but I am not the one pushing them forward. It's like the bottom half of me is a robot that I simply cannot control. I want to go, but I don't. I know long, strenuous hours await me -- strained limbs, new aches and pains that I will take home with me tonight. Standing on this street corner, I do not want to move forward, nor move back. Yet I know I want to be here, in that studio; I move forward. But when I really stop to ponder, I am left with one question -- "Do I?"
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