Swing Time

All she dreamed of was a life of luxury.

Sarah Huntsman, now 17 years old, thoughts of Michigan long gone while she sat in her bedroom with her trigonometry book open and reruns of 'The Nanny' playing in the background. Her ginger hair was now longer than when she had chopped it off as a girl, but she still opted for a short cut. It rested at chin length, straightened with a flat iron and a couple pieces pinned back with a barrette. She chewed on her pencil eraser as her eyes scanned over the math equations, all of the numbers jumbling around and screaming at her from the page.

With a heavy and frustrated sigh, she slammed the book closed, trapping her loose leaf paper in it with a dissonant wrinkling sound. Her hands reached out to the book and pushed it off of the bed; this time, the sound was a much more satisfying thump. 'Take that, Mr. Fletcher,' she thought to herself, raising her hand to flip off the textbook.

Now that she decided that she was going to fail the class (not that she cared, anyways), Sarah repositioned herself to lie on her back, her eyes glued to the ceiling that was covered in old glow-in-the-dark stars that her grandmother bought for her when she first moved in. How many years ago had that been? Five? Six? She couldn't remember. All she knew was that her father had died due to a freak accident, and her mother, being in no shape to take care of her herself, pawned her off to her grandmother in Ohio.

So now, here she was. Staring at her stupid ceiling and wishing for something more.

She closed her eyes and images of the old movies that her aunt loved drifted into her brain. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers danced their way across her mind, tunes from the film 'Swing Time' accompanying them. One bright flash of a camera bulb and the scene switched, Katharine Hepburn now walking through town, one of her classic pantsuits perfectly tailored to every curve of her figure, photographers and news reporters chasing her down the sidewalk asking questions about why she didn't want to act like the other Hollywood starlets.

Sarah sighed; this was the life she dreamed of. Surrounded in a big swirl of glitz and glam, pin curls hair-sprayed in place and simplistic silk dresses, heels clacking down the street while cameras flashed wildly around her. "Miss Huntsman!" they would yell, waving their notebooks up in the air; in response she would only push her large sunglasses up and look straight ahead, a small smug grin playing at her lips.

This imaginary grin turned to a real one as she fell deeper and deeper into her daydream; however, it was quickly replaced by a loud buzzing noise. The noise increased, growing louder and louder until it was unbearable. Sitting up, Sarah opened her eyes, but shut them again right away. Her whole room seemed to be filled with a blinding white light, so bright that even squinting was unthinkable.

That's when she felt the feeling.

And she wanted to scream had it not been for the already blaring noise in her ears.

Her skin felt as if it had been pulled off of her body. A stretching, ripping sensation first started in her arms, and panic began to rise in her. She scraped at her skin, tears now leaking from her eyes; the pain was immense. The feeling flooded over her whole body in no time, and now not only was she being pulled apart, but she was burning as well. Her whole being was on fire, and she couldn't even open her eyes to see.

Suddenly, it all seized.

Her body now felt the opposite of the searing pain- it felt nothing. /She/ felt nothing. This time when she reached out to touch her arm, it was as if everything had numbed. Was she dead? Is this what the afterlife felt like? She barely had time to think before a familiar feeling began creeping up her legs once again.

"No... /No/!" she yelled, now finding her voice. "/NO/!"

And then, it all stopped again. But this time, she could feel her arms. And her legs, and her torso, and her face.