This is for Kitkate02 's writing contest! 

Looking down at myself, I shrug. Oh well. I'm wearing a blue St. Louis Blues sweater, and a navy blue beanie. My jeans are light, and I just found a hole at the knee. My feet are encased in my black combat boots that I wear every day. 

I'm going on my first date. Ever. 

Thank goodness he's someone I can deal with. I love hockey. I live and breath hockey. I've been ice and roller skating since I could walk. He's a cute boy, and he's appreciative of my love of hockey, even if he's not as enthusiastic as me. He's more on the nerdy side.

In addition to loving hockey, I love music. I will listen to pretty much anything, but I love rock. It sounds weird, but when I'm being nerdy doing my math homework, I rock out too. I'm on my school's hockey team, and I'm generally the girl that just straight up takes on the toughest girl on the other team. Giant, 6 ft tall, bullish girl? I'll take her on. 

I'm 5'2, and I'm 15. Disadvantage? No way! I can be closer to the ice, and nobody expects my power shots. I'm fairly slim.... if you excuse my giant legs. Hockey requires a lot of muscle, so I'm a lot bulkier than most girls. I've got arm muscle too, but it's not as pronounced. 

Anyway, I let my hair out of it's habitual ponytail so that it can cover my neck. I hear the doorbell ring, and I smile at Sam. 

"Hey. So... the game starts in an hour, right?" He says, slightly nervously.

"Yup! Come on, let's go!!!" I say, pulling him out of the doorway and into the driveway. His beat up truck is parked haphazardly, engine still running. I jump into the passenger seat, ready to be off.

Going inside the arena, I feel the first chill of the ice. I smile excitedly, and take our seats. Sam really went all out, we're sitting right next to the rink. Only the thick plastic keeps us from touching the players.  Sam sits next to me, smiling at my enthusiasm. We buy snacks to share, and he holds my hand. I suppose this isn't half bad....

At last, we are ahead, 5-3. There's 5 minutes left, and I'm standing, shouting to the players. The star player comes right next to me with the puck, and an opposing player slams him. The puck flies, knocked away by their struggling sticks. And then it happens. 

I hear a crack. 

My world slows down. Slower than a snail race.

The plastic is broken.

The plastic falls, the players on top.

I jump up onto the bench, pressing backwards into the next row.

Sam. Isn't. Moving.

Why isn't he moving?

The plastic crashes on top of him.

Our star player crashes on top of the plastic.

The opposing player, who I now see is number 13, comes next.

Sam. Isn't. Moving. 

And there is screaming.

I'm screaming. 

Sam is crushed. 

His head is smashed against the back of our seats.

There's blood.

Too much blood.

I'm never dating again.