Kingston is a boring city: our downtown is half of one street! If you walk too fast for about fifteen minutes, you might end up on a patch of ice in the Springer Market Square. I did this last week.
What was this place? There’s a big hairy mechanical buffalo slowly doing laps on the surface; it looks like it was putting icing on the ice (haha, icing, ice, get it? Shit, my humour standards just got to a new low). There were people at the side fiercely watching the big buffalo. These people looked like a violent cultish mob: they all had shiny knives! On the bottom of their feet!
When the buffalo left the ice patch, the cultish mob silently stepped onto the surface. It was a bizarre scene to watch: as soon as these people stepped on the ice, they all moved in the same counterclockwise direction around the outer edge of the oval patch. Their bodies were stiff, their eyes were blank, their legs were oddly bent, and the knives on the bottom of their feet violently dug into the ice surface, making a heart breakingly horrific sound effect.
At that moment, I saw my friend walking towards me with two pairs of feet knives in his hands. “Hey, I rented us these skates; here, these are your size.”
What was going on? Is he recruiting me into this cult? I was feeling a bit hazy at that point; my fingers and toes were feeling numb and cold. There must be something shady going on. I can’t feel my nose, and my face hurts in the wind so badly that it felt like the beginning of the zombie apocalypse started from my cheek.
The next thing I know, I was putting my feet inside these knife shoe things. My friend then held my arm and forced me to put my feet knives on the ice. It was a transforming moment! Suddenly, everything I learned about the biomechanics of walking and the physics of friction were failing. I must have been experiencing the physical singularity where the laws of physics broke down!
“Hattie, you look so stiff! Just let your skates balance and you’ll move smoothly!”
I didn’t believe him. How is this smooth? There’s like pot holes and rolling hills on this ice patch! There’s a big pile of crushed ice fenced off with a bunch of pylons in the middle of the rink, for goodness sake.
I moved with a dazzling speed of 100km per month in the same oval as the rest of the mob. My legs were moving with a motion as repetitive as a broken metronome. The pylons guarding the broken ice looked bigger and oranger every second. Oh wait, I’m approaching it…I can’t stop…there’s no friction…oh fuck!
I fell. I fell and I slid through the bunch of pylons and landed in the middle of…where the hell am I?! I must have fell through the rabbit hole…or wormhole…or whatever you call a dislocation in the cosmic fabric.
“Hattie, stop lying on the rink! I know you don’t skate well, but you don’t have to be a little bitch and get in the way of little kids skating!”
Okay, fine. I’m not really crazy, or high. I was just scared of skating and trying to write a story that makes the sport look cultish and grotesque. I apologize. I’m gonna get off the rink and get warm now.