In English class, one of the themes we have been focusing on lately is the notion that people shouldn’t let fear run their lives because cowardice can be more dangerous than bravery. I believe that this is a very important thing to remember. The following is a story which I wrote that represents this theme:

**Disclaimer: This story does contain some sensitive topics such as illness, suicide and depression

Happily Ever After?

The soulful sound of a piano resonated in the still air, filling the space with its beauty and finesse. A girl danced across the floor, the coolness of the tiles chilled the soles of her bare feet, and traveled up into her body. As she spun, the puffy white dress she wore flowed around her like flower petals picking up in the wind. Each note of music evoked movement through her delicate body. She tiptoed on her feet while holding the edge of her skirt with her hand.

That carefree girl used to be me. That girl is dead now. I am no longer the same person. After all that happened to me, I feel weak, helpless and empty. My everyday life is now a struggle. I am pressed so hard against the earth by the weight of reality that some days, I wonder how I am still able to lift my feet to walk.  I wistfully wait for someone to wake me up and tell me that this has all been a nightmare.

A few months ago, while I was practicing my dance routine, I felt a deep and sharp ache in my head. I shook it off and continued my practice, thinking it was just a typical headache. Suddenly, I was light­headed and I quickly fell to the polished dance floor. I could barely register what was happening around me. Little black dots swarmed my vision, and the corners of my sight slowly faded into black. The pain in my head was so sharp and excruciating that I didn’t even notice when I dropped to the ground. Everything blotted out and nothing mattered. I felt the world was crashing around me in slow motion. I tried to fight it, but it was too strong. I finally gave in, and let the darkness to take over.

I woke up to the beeping noises of the machines in a hospital room a few days later. I couldn’t manage to open my eyes yet. However, I could hear what was happening around me. My parents were talking with someone who turned out to be a brain specialist. The doctor was telling my parents that I had an inoperable tumour in my brain. He explained that all they could do for me at this point was to ease my pains and try to keep me as comfortable as possible. My father who was trying to keep his emotions in place, asked the doctor to be honest with them and let them know how long had I left. The doctor told him that unfortunately I had no more than a few months left. At this point, my mother lost her self control and started a gut wrenching sob.

Surprisingly, I felt detached and I didn’t know what to think of this news. Maybe, I deserved to die after what I did.

The air was stuffy and it smelt like disinfectants. The walls had been adorned by cheap prints of sceneries. I hated the atmosphere of the hospital; it reminded me of Scarlett. I tried to clear my thoughts, but I couldn’t. I just kept on thinking of how I ruined that poor girl’s life by my cowardice.

Scarlett was a simple looking but genuinely kind-hearted soul. When I transferred to Cambrian Heights High School, she befriended me. We soon became good friends. She was from a dysfunctional family and the school was a refuge for her. Her father was in jail and her mother was always out working two or three low paid jobs to support their family. She could not afford to wear fashionable clothes and in addition she was socially awkward. These had made her an easy target for the school bullies and they often made fun of her and played pranks on her.

Then one day, after seeing my dance in our school’s talent show, this group of popular girls noticed me for the first time. They complimented my dancing skills and were astonished why I was always with Scarlet. They called her a loser and told me that if I wanted to be included in their circle, I should drop Scarlett as my friend. I loved their attention and wanted to feel included and special. I told them that I was not her friend, I just felt sorry for her. I then went on and explained about her family’s situation. These revelations peaked their interest and they asked more questions. I was delighted to be the centre of interest of these popular girls and I continued divulging secrets that Scarlett had shared with me about her personal life. The next day, the entire school knew about Scarlett secrets. The school bullies used this information to tease her more. After Scarlett noticed that I have betrayed her trust, she stopped talking to me. Instead of apologizing and defending my friend, I joined the group of girls who made fun of her. I was now fully accepted in the circle of popular girls and I did not care about the pain I was causing to Scarlett. She had lost her final refuge, the school. After a little while, she couldn’t take it anymore. She went running out of the school sobbing. Later that night, she committed suicide.

After this incident, I could not forgive myself for what I did.  She didn’t deserve any of what happened to her. If I was not a coward and I stood up for her, she would still be alive. I betrayed my friend and I caused her to end her life. A moment of carelessness and subsequent cowardice in admitting my faults cost her life. I did not mean for all this to happen,  but I did nothing to prevent it either.

In these last days of my life, I sense a poetic justice in what happened to me. I have no desire to get better or fight my illness. I think I got what I deserved. It is true that a coward dies a thousand times before his death.