In your name:
A virtuoso of his craft~ The bright stage lights, the exuberant crowds support, it was where he belonged, where he felt most at home.
The stage was his one and only love, and after many years, days, and hours, blood, sweat and tears, he could now show his perfected talent to the world.
They say when he danced it was pure magic, you were swept in and hypnotized by his grace, his skill...
were...
That was until the accident of course. They deemed it a true tragedy. The world of ballet had lost one of their most talented. And yet, the mourn did not last long. In such with any business he was quickly replaced, and forgotten.
What was he left to do? The doctors had declared him unfit to ever dance again... and even walking was questionable. His family was ashamed, his friends too "busy" to pay any mind. He was left to his shame... his misery. He lay in wake staring helplessly out the window, like a bird whose wings had been clipped. Without dancing... without passion, he had no desire to get better.
On his worse days... he felt perhaps it would be better if he just wilted alone. That way he could no longer remain a burden.
And for ever day he had, be it filled with hope of a new day or that of agonizing memories there was one person who was always there.
She was his saving grace. The one who could make his worries melt away. Although he hadn't realized it until it was too late.
She wasn't a family member, a friend, or even a fellow dancer. No, she was but a fan.
He found it ironic the only attention he could get happened to be from someone he regarded so low.
She would float in every morning, smile upon her face.
And everyday he would express, his worries, anxieties, fears. Somedays he'd snap in frustration and anger over his condition. But yet the next morning she'd be back with that ever lasting grin.
Oh how he regretted his actions in that way. He'd never forget that one day... she came, a little more anxious than usual. He didn't think much of it. At the time all that was on his mind was himself.
She glided over to his bed, squeezing his hand as she placed an object in his palm.
He opened his hand slowly in surprise, a yellow elegant Beyblade lay inside. How she knew him well.
He often found himself watching TV to past the time, and he had been focusing on one show a lot lately.
It was a sport that fascinated him greatly, that of Beyblading. He was never particularly interested before, but upon seeing a match with a boy possessing a bey of sheer grace, a white pegasus that lit up the arena, it made him remember his own excitement of the stage. Oh how the crowd cheered.
If he could not dance... perhaps their was another interest he could embark in? Could he, should he embrace this newfound passion?
Or should he stick to being bed-ridden for the sake of not to shame his family once more?
And could it ever rebuild the same passion he use to once have?
It was a question that weighed heavy on his heart. And she had made the decision for him.
He should have been grateful, he wish he could have been. But all he felt was anger. How could she expect this from him? To just run blindly with ambition?
"Don't you realize I'm not good enough to show myself to the world again?" Angered, sadden cries that was his response.
Hers he'd never forget. "Only you can stop yourself. Prove to those who ever doubted you not just that you can but will!"
He never knew those very words would be the last to escape her gentle lips.
It came as a shock when she didn't appear the next day. He was overwhelmed, so much more than he ever expected.
He found out soon later that she would never come again. She died in a car crash the night before.
Rumored that in distress she had walked blindly out into a crosswalk... not noticing the oncoming lights of a speeding car in the rain.
Mixtures of anger and sorrow overtaking him, he spent the next few days crying, screaming. His calm demeanor shaken, all of the nurses were upset and in disarray. But how could he worry about that?
Like a ghost in the night, cruel fate had come to strike him once more. It would seem he had nothing else, and he truly believed so for a while. That was until he opened his eyes one morning to see something he never expected.
The sun glinting upon a shiny object he had left next to his bedside. His Beyblade, and emanating from it stood the figure of a ballerina, quite as himself but looking into her face... he saw only her... and with a nod and a soft echoing cry... it dissipated away, quick as it came.
It was that moment he knew. Her words ringing in his ears he shifted his weight to the edge of his bed, struggling all the while, and stood up, clutching his Bey. He made an eternal promise.
From that moment forward he would get better, he would succeed for the both of them.
Crowds cries echoing in his ears, he smiled and waved as he approached the arena. He paused for a moment, envisioning the past, that of his once dancing dream... a hint of sadness in his eyes.
And then it faded as he a grin shined across his face. This was now his stage. Eventually he'd find the support of newfound friends as thoughts of adventures to come crossed his mind.
Yes he would make enemies. Yes he may sometimes lose. But he, and his prima donna would be carried, watched by a greater force.
She would always be there, watching. And he would always be there... waiting. Fighting in her name.
There is always someone caring watching over you. Never let your time with them slip away. I hope you enjoyed. ~lily
And yes, I know this isn't exact to his story, I have reasoning behind it. You'll just have to see~