Stepping onto the ice, I feel the crisp, cold air against my face as I glide around the rink. My skates carving winding lines into the ice as I moved. Even with the other skaters' blades making soft whizzing noises, my own skates beg to be heard as they gently push and pull against the ice. "Go ahead and run through your program," my coach, Niki, tells me reassuringly. I skate quickly to my spot to begin. As I practice, a million different thoughts run through my head. Shoulders back, head up, arms straight, push with your edges, my mind chides, focusing on everything Niki says to watch for. My fingers stretched out hopefully, as if reaching out to grasp for success.
When I compete, I take in everything around me, noticing every little detail. I feel the cool and heavy fabric of my skirt brushing against my legs, soft but still strangely rough. My eyes drift around, watching for other skaters, and I just barely catch a glimpse of my reflection glancing back at me on the glassy ice. It's as if there is another me, mirroring the real me, beneath the ice. Her face distorted within the layers of ice, like a smoky haze. Turning my head, I look over my right shoulder. Skating backwards powerfully, I can tell this will be a good jump. As I pick up speed, I pull my arms tightly to my chest, hugging myself. I take a sharp intake of the air, and can almost feel it running through my veins, giving me strength. Then, bending my knee, I throw myself into the air.
Time stands still as my back hits hard, the force stealing the air from my lungs abruptly. I can feel myself drop out of the air. Centuries seemed to pass before gravity takes over, and pulls me to the ground. The next thing I know, my spine is throbbing and I feel the cold, wet ice as it melts and seeps through my clothes, numbing my skin. I groanas waves of pain crash through my body. "Oh my god, are you okay?!" a startled voice frantically asks me, sounding miles away. Trying not to cause too much pain, I slowly turn my head. There, a few feet away, lies a girl from my team, named Kayla. There is a slow stream of blood running down her cheek, from her left temple. She cautiously brings her hand up to the spot where my eyes are locked. I stand up slowly as my head pounds, but the pain is dulled with worry, and I am entirely too dazed to care.
YOU ARE READING
Collision
RandomA short story about the time a teammate and I got caught in each others blind spots and collided in midair, causing a nasty fall. This was an assignment to write a VERY descriptive narrative, as if it was being played in slow motion.
