My Stream of Consciousness - 1

Random Excerpt

Quick succession, Fauna. Single axel, then a scratch spin.

I execute the leap and the spin with little problems, and continue to skate to the song "Road to a Dream."

Double salchow.

I throw myself into the jump, feeling the cold of the rink atmosphere against my skin. 

Then an sixteen-rotation camel spin, followed by a double axel.

The crowd is cheering me on, but I can barely hear them through the blood pounding in my ears. My heart is beating a thousand times faster than it should be as I execute the spins and jump flawlessly, just like the rest of my program. I quickly preform a single lutz, followed by a corkscrew sit spin with twenty rotations.

This is it.

I feel the rough, blade-crossed ice under my skates as I make my way to my final jump.

Quad sal.

I shut my eyes tightly.

Coach, I hope you were right.

I dig my toe pick into the ice and propel myself into the air. Wind from the sheer momentum of the jump stings my face.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

I touch down on the ice. I feel my knees nearly buckle but I manage to stay standing and I know my landing isn't exactly perfect, but I preform a quick twizzle and skate into my final pose, sweat streaming down my pale face.

I did it.

The crowd is screaming my name.

I did a quad sal.

The shock is settling over me as the judges thank me and send me off the ice. I nearly trip on my way off the rink and into a semi-secluded area next to the bleachers.

I did a quad sal at the Olympics.

I stumble onto a bench and sit down, breathing heavily. My breath billows out in front of me as people walk by, talking in whispers. I can feel thousands of eyes on me. A lump of fear pressed down on my throat.

"Congratulations, Fauna!" Squeals a very familiar voice, and I look up to see Coach Pisché making her way quickly over. Coach is only 23, but she's competed in the Winter Olympics twice and gotten a medal in several of her programs. 

"I can't breathe," I gasp out. The pressure in my throat is getting to be too much. "Water."

Coach immediately rushes away to get a glass of water for me, and I lift my head weakly as I hear footsteps approaching.

In front of me stands Tristan. His blonde hair is slicked back, and his light blue eyes are accented by the dashes of makeup on his face. He did his program an while ago, but he's still in his costume, a light blue outfit that matches his eyes with white patterns scrawled across his chest, legs, and stomach in a seemingly undecipherable language.

"Tristan," I say quietly.

"Fauna," he responds gently. "That was amazing."

"I-I..."

Coach runs back over, clinging to a paper cup filled with water. As soon as she hands it to me I down the whole thing, feeling the dryness in my throat ease a little bit.