The Miracle of Dance (A love story)

Prologue

Dance is my life. Some might think that I'm being over-dramatic or being silly but I can honestly say that dance has given me a purpose in life that no other thing has. I started dancing from the moment I could walk, my mom teaching me everything I know today. My mom was, and still is, one of the best dancers I have ever met as well as the kindest and gentlest person you could ever meet. My dad...well he's a different story all together.

I don't know when it started, or how, but my dad would come home every night, drunk, high, or buzzed off of some other substance and whenever he was like this...well, he got angry. Not just a yell at the top of your lungs angry but a full-on violent rage. It only took the smallest things to set him off; a dish in the sink, a smudge on the counter, not enough milk in the fridge, etc. I didn't get hit most of the time, only because my mom would shield me with her body and take the brunt of the force. The only time I ever got hit was when my mom was in the bathroom or sent to do something and I was left alone when he came home. I always begged and plead and cried but that only seemed to make him angrier. Even at a young age I was so protective of my mother that I would rather be beat instead of her. I remember every time she got beat into unconciousness, it still haunts me to this day.

But as horrible as the nights my dad came home were, the best times seemed to be during the day when he was off doing whatever he did. My mom was in a dance troupe and because she didn't trust my dad to not come to a school I was attending, she brought me with her and during her breaks would both teach me school stuff and dance. I remember watching her dance and how her face lit up every time she did a jump or spin, her movements so fluid and smooth that I couldn't help but be entranced by her. The only time I ever saw her truly and completely happy was when she was dancing. One day when we came back from her dancing, back to the small one story house that only had two bedrooms and one bathroom, we were met by my angry, intoxicated dad. I was 14 years old at this time and I knew what was going to happen so I took a wide stance in front of my mom and glared at the man who seemed to get angrier by my defiance.He stalked closer to me and I tried not to shy away from the murder in his eyes. My mom tried to pull me away but I was stronger than her, and I knew it.

When my father reached me he said with a calm that was eery “Get out of the way kid, don't make me do something you'll regret.” I simply raised my chin and glared harder at the old man and that seemed to make him snap. I hear my mom's screams as was hit in the head by his fist, my head swimming as I tried to keep my balance but lost it when I got hit in the stomach and knocked off balance, hitting the wall and a small table where a vase came crashing down. I felt my legs kicked from beneath me and I fell to the ground, feeling sharp glass stab into my back and legs. I felt more kicks to my head and body, curling up as tightly as I could and covering myself with my tired arms.Suddenly the kicking stopped and I felt my vision go black before I passed out.

I'm not sure how long I was out, it could have been a few minutes or a few hours, but when I came to, my vision was blurry and I threw up on the ground beside me. I tried to stand but the pain in my legs prevented me so I ended up just laying on the ground. I got enough strength to move my head and look around me and what I saw made my blood run cold and a chill run down my spine. The house was in shambles, objects thrown everywhere, broken furniture and...blood...so much blood. I started crawling, calling for my mom but the house was eerily silent. I started crying so hard that I couldn't see where I was going but followed the blood smears to the room that was my fathers room. The door was ajar and I almost didn't want to go in, but then I heard the soft whimpering sound and pushed the door open with my hand.

What I saw made a startled cry burst from my throat. In the corner of the room was my mother, my beautiful outstanding mother who danced with all her heart and loved me with her whole being. Her face was cut up and bruised so badly that I could barely recognize her, a pool of blood surrounded her and she was gripping her stomach tightly, her breath coming in painful pants. I crawled quickly to her and threw my body on hers crying. I noticed a gun beside her and looked at her with fear. Oh please...please god don't let her die. I prayed silently tears running down my face landing on her bloody and torn shirt. I heard my name being whispered and leaned in closer trying to hear what she was saying, my sobs turning silent.

“Mira...he won't hurt you anymore” She said softly, kissing my head before her breathing slowed and her eyes closed gently. The look on her face reminded me of when she was dancing, she looked so at peace...so happy. I remember yelling for her, my body slung over her body, her blood soaking my clothes. I remember the paramedics coming and trying to pull me off of her and me screaming and thrashing but to weak to escape. I remember being sedated and put onto a stretcher. But the thing I remember most is my mother being put in a body bag and wheeled off in a separate ambulance.

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Author's Ponderings: Well, here's the prologue. I know, I know, soooo sad. I almost cried writing it myself :( Show your support if you want to know what happened to Mira by voting, commenting, or fanning! I'm hoping to get at least five votes before I put up a new chapter but...if not then I'll upload within the next few days. Thanks guys for reading <3

-Tabby =^_^=