The Spark
22
“Representing Russia, Anastasiya Eristov.”
Waving flags dance in my peripheral vision as I step onto the ice. I am blanketed by the deafening roar of my people, chanting my name, praying that I win, as a favorite in figure skating.
With my head held high, I made my way to the center of the ice. The crowd only grew louder as I took my first position. My hands shook with anticipation. I would be a disappointment if I lost, but a hero if I won gold. The music played and I fell into rhythm as I began my dance. My routine started with the triple axel at the heart of the ice.
I didn’t know what to expect. Lights glared in my eyes and camera flashes went off like fireflies, temporarily blinding me. I took my time leading into the jump, and took off, landing hard on my right ankle. The crowd applauded as I looked up into a sign with the phrase, “Eristov for GOLD! Make Russia proud!” I felt more pressure than ever as I brought myself into a layback spin. I closed my eyes and tilted backwards, letting gravity take control of my rotation. The crowd gave their approval at the trick and I smiled into the audience. When it came time for the triple Lutz; I overcame it with ease. I gained confidence with every step, letting the energetic crowd push me towards victory.
My routine was almost finished, every move executed perfectly. I began to believe I would win. The only thing that stood between me and the podium was the jump combination, something that I had excelled at in the past. My grin widened with triumph; I had surely won with the routine I just did. I increased my speed and was about to jump into the air when the toe pick on my shoe caught the ice. I didn’t get the height I needed and I crashed onto the ice. My knees buckled and hit the ice, my legs splayed at unnatural angles. I cried out in pain as my leg was already starting to swell. People in red jackets rushed onto the ice; medics, I assume. They checked the condition of my legs, with every poke I choked on the scream building up in my throat. My coach slid in behind them.
“What is her condition?” he asked in English, though his Russian accent slurred the words together slightly. A woman turned to speak to him.
“I am afraid that Anastasiya has shattered her knee and snapped a tendon. She will not be able to skate competitively again.”
And then my world grew dark. I lay still, consumed by blackness.
-ANNA K. & ALLY W.
An Emblem of Her Homeland
A Short Story by Anna K. & Ally W.