The Skis

The woman was a soft snuggly pillow, of neon pink, soaring through the air. I bumped into her so fast that I couldn’t even stop to see if she was okay. My skis just wouldn’t listen to me. They seemed to be having some sort of disagreement. I found myself flying down the advanced slope because my instructor told me I was ready and shoved me down that terrifying trail. I didn’t have time to wonder at his amused expression or why he veered off to the easier trail. Thump. Another casualty. Another pillowy person. Man? Woman? I heard a rapidly growing faint curse. As I lifted off into the crisp cold air, my limbs every which way, I swear I could hear my skis arguing with each other.

“She doesn’t know what she is doing!” the right ski said to the left ski.

“Yes, she does, otherwise the instructor wouldn’t have sent her down this run. Just cooperate, and let’s get her down safely.” the left ski replied.

“Where's the fun in that?” replied the right ski.

My skis were definitely running the show. All I could do was just go along for the ride. Time was playing tricks, it was both going faster than the speed of light and also in slow motion. Damn my ski instructor, what on earth was he thinking? Thinking? Who had time to think. Still skiing. So much snow. I didn’t realize that I had entered a ski park. While skiing I felt that the snow wasn’t soft anymore, so I looked down, and saw myself on a metal ski bar. I was petrified. If I stopped I would fall down, so I didn’t stop. I made my skis parallel and hoped for the best. I ended up flying off the metal bar, landing on my skies and continued skiing as if nothing happened.

“Whoa, did you see that?” The left ski shouted to the right ski.

“Yeah, I was aiming for a big spill.” Answered the right ski with a smirk.

“Good thing I won that one,” the left ski said.

“I’ll give you that. Perfect form on the landing,” the right ski complimented.

I was getting the hang of this; I didn’t know what I was doing, but my skis did. I just wish they would stop arguing with each other and just get me to the bottom in one piece. Oh no, here we go again. This time there was a pole in front of me. Luckily for me my left ski stopped me from crashing into it. I continued skiing down the hill. Suddenly, I heard someone yelling, “Move out of my way! Move!” Bang. Somebody bumped into me. Before I knew it, I was in the air. Way way up in the air, doing a summersault.

“Wheeee!” the skis yelled.

Even my skis were impressed. My skis began to cooperate with one another, so I landed well on my skis, and skied all the way down. Relief. The end of the run. At first I thought it was my skis. People were clapping, and telling me I should go to the Olympics. My skis agreed. Who am I to argue with my skis? My instructor was being put in an ambulance. His skis got the better of him.