How Can I Keep Dancing? [ON HOLD]

How Can I Keep Dancing? ~~~ Prologue ~~~

Dearest Reader,

I know some of you are one of those people who like to read random stuff and then move on without acknowledgment, but not anymore. Please for the love of God let me know what you're thinking. All feedback is helpful and accepted, so tell me if you think something is bad or good. I had an epiphany of this story in the middle of the night, the night before my final year exam and I swear, it has to be the worst time to think of this. I am hoping to present this story in THREE PARTS, like a typical novel would be structured. Please Comment and Vote (Just plain feedback is great :D)

Thanks! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~PROLOGUE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 1940, Paris

There's nothing in the world quite like the sound of an Air Raid. It is those who are unable to sleep, women mourning over their dead, or awake at night in the hopes their husbands and sons will come home to them, who hear it first. Their children sleep soundly at night, nearly oblivious to the true horrors outside waiting, as they should. How would they know any better; those wealthy children hear on the radio about the invasion of the Germans all over Europe, but they don't pay attention to it - because their parents tell them not to. Rather they sleep soundly after listening to a bedtime story and receiving a good night's kiss. Only when the siren of an Air Raid whirs do the children's nightmares begin to sink in. But all too soon, their mothers soothe their cries, humming to them in their arms as they run for safety. Only those old enough would truly understand. Adolescents - those who believe that they know what is happening, and believe that they can look after themselves. I guess in desperate situations they might have. But when surrounded by safety and family, instantaneously they must feel as though they are the heroes - that they're not afraid of anything.

And I would know. I was exactly like that myself. Yet it wasn't until I saw an opportunity to grasp that I found myself in my own personal hell. Hell on earth. Nothing can prepare you for the horrors of war. Nothing jumps up and tells you to duck just before a bullet might hit you. Nothing to warn you that what you plan on doing might well get you killed, and possibly those around you as well. Well, those people who sit around underground bunkers while the planes drop bombs on the city thinking that there should be more to it than that, and that they could save the world, should consider themselves lucky. Because like I said, I was like that once. Stupid and ignorant, yet passionate about what I believed in. Yet sometimes I think it was passion that brought me courage, and my faith is what brought me to my end.

Such is life, I should say.