#ock03

i bound. i leap. i pull off a masterful grand jeté like all the virtuosos who came before me. but my stance was wrong all along, and my ankles snap when my soles greet the floor. the members of the audience don’t care about the landing, though. they cry “brava” as i force a smile through gritted teeth and take a bow. tomorrow’s reviews will label me a star, and the feeling of accomplishment will distract me from the pain for a blissful five minutes. my father will frame the article in his living room, my friends will congratulate me with teary eyes, and i will hide my shattered bones from them forever.