Cuts on Paper Hearts, They Can be Awful Deep

THIS WAS PREVIOUSLY NAMED "If Music Be the Food of Love, Play On"

Bright lights, blind me. When did I get here? Why can’t I remember? I inhale deeply and a menacing voice booms. “Skating now is, Isabella Rittee,” I shiver involuntarily and begin my routine, I’m flitting across the ice, the cool, crisp, air wraps its daunting fingers around my throat. I can feel myself choking. My legs seem to have a mind of their own, performing flawlessly, I don’t remember learning the routine, but my legs move nimbly and I can feel the audience hold their breath as I leap into the air.

Suddenly, I hear a shrill scream and I fall to the ground. All I see is blood. Blood is quickly surrounding me, I nearly lose consciousness and fall headfirst into the thick crimson puddle, the metallic stench is agonizingly sickening and I can feel myself choking on the blood. As this thought creeps into my mind, I instantly sit up and a veil of crimson clouds my vision, “Isabella! Isabella!” I hear someone scream in the distance. I attempt to wipe the blood out of my now stinging eyes. All I can make out is the plump figure of my mother rushing towards me, then, everything, goes black.