It's that same dream again. The one that always comes.
I see my dad running on the track ahead of me. I've never been able to beat him before. But maybe, just maybe, today will be the day. I wait until I get to the final turn. Dad sucks at taking turns. I use it to pull just behind him. Then, with about 100 yards to go, I put on a last ditch effort to win: one final burst of speed.
I pull it off. For the first time ever, I finished a whole second before my father. My dad, the track star, just got his butt kicked by an 11 year old girl. And it's the best feeling I've ever had.
We get into the car to go home. Something doesn't feel right, but I'm too happy to notice. We start driving, everything is going normally. But then there came something we never could have predicted.
We didn't have time to react. We saw the other car coming, but it was too close by that point. It crashed into us. The car flipped. There was fire, lots of it. I screamed a lot. I passed out.
I see myself waking up in a hospital bed. I see my mom, and the doctors standing around me. "Dad!" I hear myself yell. My mother puts her hand on my shoulder. "Emi … there was a car crash. Dad's gone." I move to get out of bed. Mom holds me back. "There's something else. Your legs … they had to be amputated. Removed." I throw off the sheets and look down.
The first thing I do is reach down. I can feel my knees, but shortly after that, the bandages start, and then there's nothing. I reach down to where my feet used to be. Still nothing. I feel tears welling up.
And then I wake up. And he's there.