Dancing on the ice: A short story

Right now, all I can see are my million fans. Flashing lights and posters everywhere. I laced up my brand-new skates and struck a pose. “This is it, Johanna,” I told myself. “You can do it. Just skate, skate, skate, and pirouette. Then twirl and leap for the twist.''

I skated on to the ice and curtsied. Loud music blared out from the speakers. I put my hands on my hips, facing the audience. The rap began.

When the rap ended, I twirled around and started dancing on the ice. I danced beautifully.

My spins were perfect and my hand movements were splendid. My footwork was delicate and graceful. Then, it was time for the final part of the show. I twirled in the air, did a 360-degree twist (a full twist), and landed on one foot, the other foot in the air.

Everyone cheered. Suddenly, I felt a pull on my leg. It hurt horribly. I had twisted my ankle, I realised, and the dance hadn’t even ended yet. That was when I woke up.

I was in my old purple bedroom with purple walls, a purple bed and a purple study table, behind which were lavender curtains.

“Time for the dance show, Ms. Johanna,” called Ms. Parker, my personal wardrobe mistress. “Your shiny blue dress is in your closet. Break a leg!”