The stage is my home. The curtains are my windows, and the floor my bed. The backdrop is my walls, and the audience, my family. When I turn, I never stop. When I step, I glide. When I move, I flow. When I dance, I live. I'm not longer alive.[1]

I drove home after a competition. I was proud, jubilant, and alive. In the seat beside me sat two platinum awards, a single high gold, and a trophy for second overall. I was rejuvenated after being on the stage.
My radio blasted Hot N Cold by Katy Perry, and I was struggling to resist the urge to dance in my seat. The worn and faded leather of the seats cushioned my awards. It felt soft and familiar beneath on my bare skin. The roundness of the steering wheel felt comfortable in my dainty hands. Cool air blasted from the vents in the sides of the car, blowing my hair back out of my face. The car's interior reeked of McDonald's, but I had grown used to the stench and it no longer phased me. Cars wizzed by all around. The headlights put on a show through my window.
I glanced at the awards sitting beside me and smiled. The song began to play back in my head, and I saw myself standing on the stage, in front of everyone, dancing. At that time, I was alive. The stage brings me life. It brings me hope. Dancing is my life. I leapt and twirled and glided all across the various areas of the stage. The cheering of the crowd brought me pure joy. I felt love and I felt wanted by these people.
That's when I saw the lights and heard the screeching. I heard the hit as we collided into eachother. Pow!...I heard a strange noise and then I was looking through white fog. For a moment....just a moment....I asked if I was dead, and honestly, I was waiting for people to step through to greet me. Those expectations didn't last long as the answer fell into my mind that the airbags exploded.[2]

The airbag powder cleared quickly since the air conditioner fan was still running. Now I could see cars stopped outside and people from across the street were staring. That's what people do. They stare. They watched as I struggled to open the door. Then my upper body fell out of my car. I remember waiting, wanting to feel strong hands grasp mine to pull me out, but they wouldn't come. I waited and waited for what seemed to me to be an eternity, but no hands came. Then it went black. The world around me went black, and that is all i remember. The rest was black.[3]

I opened my eyes finally to see white. Nothing but white. I could hear the obnoxious ticking of the clock, and the intimidating machinery surrounding me. Wires hung from rusty, cold rods as the machine's lights flickered off and on with the turn of a knob. The plain white walls seemed to close in on me. These walls told stories of broken hearts and wished upon dreams that were never to be seen again. The chair drew my attention as its worn cushion exposed itself from underneath its dull blue top. As my eyes began to focus clearer, and get used to the stark hospital strip lights, I found one imperfection, a small chip in paint on the ceiling above the stiff, scratchy hospital bed. As I looked to my right, I saw doctors pacing back and forth but seemingly running in slow motion. The staff walked around lifeless and un-human like. I saw pained expressions on the faces of visitors waiting impatiently in lounge. The hospital.
Why was I here? I don't know, and hope to never find out. All I know is that to me, I was dead. According to the charts hooked to the end of my bed I was still completely living, but my soul had died within me. The bottom of my left leg had been removed, and could not be replaced. I could not dance, therefore, I could not live.[4]

The man who had hit me came to me in the terrible hospital room. He pleaded, begged and begged for my forgiveness of him. He desired for it, and you could tell in his eyes that he felt true pain. "I'm sorry," he cried, "I didn't know what I was doing. My friends, they told me not to drive... I wouldn't listen.... I'd been drinking.... I-I-I-I'm sorry..... Please, please, forgive me." He stumbled over the words as tears began to stain his cheeks, but that's not reason to forgive this man. I knew more pain than he. Tears had stained my innocent, soft cheeks many a time because of this man. My soul had wept until its death because of what this one man had done. Even though the charts wouldn't say it, I knew in my heart. For me, this man was a murderer, and I would never forgive him. Would you?[5]