15 MINUTE FIC: modified dream
I Am Feeling | Deflated 
Second time around in 15minuteficlets.
Title: Modified Dream
Author: BehrBeMine
Fandom: Original
Rating: G
Word Count: 399
Prompt: Word #186
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It's what you've been waiting for. Working for, striving for, in those moments that seemed never to end, as the clock hands ticked in slow motion, and the music whirred on, despite your tired legs.
Of all the times you've fallen, blades cutting into thick ice, and sending your rear end to smash and bruise on the cold expanse of white, this was the time you know they'll remember. It was as if everything stopped as the triple jump became something less than glamorous. Your rotation wasn't sure enough, and down you went, the tiny skirt on your dress spilling over your thighs, wet from touching the ice on which you had fallen.
You're not one to cry or show much emotion in public, and as you stood back up and raised your arms above your head, the music came back into focus, and so did you. The audience cheered as you landed your final jump in the program, and swung your arms with such strength, propelling your legs into the scratch spin that lasted that timeless kind of forever.
Faces in the crowd were well blurred as you took your trip on a spin, wrapping your left leg around your right to speed the rotation until the curve was spent, the spin over, the music ending, and you were striking your final pose.
And then it came: the thunderous applause. Like an avalanche tearing off the side of a mountain, the clapping of hands zigzagged to your ears in lightning fashion, warming you, warming the ice below you. As you took your bows, there were small puddles beneath your blades that splashed melted water delicately on your nylon-covered ankles. Your ankles that ached, but to a symphony today, rather than in agonized silence.
When the bows were done, there came a wave of your hands, a flurried back-and-forth motion that blurred your fingers in front of you. And you were waving to no one in particular; simply to anyone who had helped create that ruckus of a sound to quiet the tense lecture that otherwise would have inhabited your brain. Perfection isn't perfect today; it's getting up from a fall, to draw the applause. The applause that washes over you like a wave, burying you in itself, and leaving you refreshed and open to the next fall, the next spin, the next finish to the booming applause.
- -
end
Second time around in 15minuteficlets.
Title: Modified Dream
Author: BehrBeMine
Fandom: Original
Rating: G
Word Count: 399
Prompt: Word #186
- -
It's what you've been waiting for. Working for, striving for, in those moments that seemed never to end, as the clock hands ticked in slow motion, and the music whirred on, despite your tired legs.
Of all the times you've fallen, blades cutting into thick ice, and sending your rear end to smash and bruise on the cold expanse of white, this was the time you know they'll remember. It was as if everything stopped as the triple jump became something less than glamorous. Your rotation wasn't sure enough, and down you went, the tiny skirt on your dress spilling over your thighs, wet from touching the ice on which you had fallen.
You're not one to cry or show much emotion in public, and as you stood back up and raised your arms above your head, the music came back into focus, and so did you. The audience cheered as you landed your final jump in the program, and swung your arms with such strength, propelling your legs into the scratch spin that lasted that timeless kind of forever.
Faces in the crowd were well blurred as you took your trip on a spin, wrapping your left leg around your right to speed the rotation until the curve was spent, the spin over, the music ending, and you were striking your final pose.
And then it came: the thunderous applause. Like an avalanche tearing off the side of a mountain, the clapping of hands zigzagged to your ears in lightning fashion, warming you, warming the ice below you. As you took your bows, there were small puddles beneath your blades that splashed melted water delicately on your nylon-covered ankles. Your ankles that ached, but to a symphony today, rather than in agonized silence.
When the bows were done, there came a wave of your hands, a flurried back-and-forth motion that blurred your fingers in front of you. And you were waving to no one in particular; simply to anyone who had helped create that ruckus of a sound to quiet the tense lecture that otherwise would have inhabited your brain. Perfection isn't perfect today; it's getting up from a fall, to draw the applause. The applause that washes over you like a wave, burying you in itself, and leaving you refreshed and open to the next fall, the next spin, the next finish to the booming applause.
- -
end