Patrice’s throat was sore now. Tentatively, she placed her hand against her neck. The pain which she felt was bad but the mental turmoil was even worse, like her soul had been twisted. Patrice climbed up onto the final step, longing to escape and return home.
Spasmodically, like tango dancing gone awry, Patrice skidded and then stumbled down a hole where she fell upon jagged rocks. Luckily, she scrambled out unhurt, however her violin case was dented–damage inflicted when she sat upon it, her legs akimbo.