I can’t breathe. Air and oxygen surround me. They laugh as I choke on their disease. I’ve been here way too long. The place smells like death. 
    “Honey, would you like some water,” my mother’s soothing voice washes over me. I turn my head to look into her dark oak brown eyes. They always seemed to comfort me.
    “Yes please,” I said, giving her a weak smile. She soon comes back with the liquid I love and two nurses. Just in case.
    “Are you ok Bree,” my mom says calmly after I drained the cup.
    “My life is over,” I yawned like it was no big deal, but I knew it was. I tell her and my father that everyday. Just to make sure they understand.
    “Bree it’s--,” my mom tries to comfort me.
    “Over,” I turn my head to face the wall. I hear my mom sigh, get up, and leave the room. Her heels are like a herd of elephants. It’s the loudest sound in the hospital. Once I’m sure that I am alone, I start to sit up and pull the blankets away from my legs.
    I stare at my legs. One sits calmly, like a lion bathing himself in the afternoon sun. Tan and beautiful. It’s... complete. The other one is a hospital trash can. Gauze, tape, and bandages cover my other leg. I see a thigh and a knee, but somehow my shin, foot, and ankle are lost. What takes its place are the white sheets of the hospital bed.
    “Hey mom, I gotta go now, I’m entering some thick traffic.”
“Ok honey see you at home,” my mom said quietly as I started to put the phone down. The truck came out of nowhere. Hitting my side of the car and crushing it.
“AHHHHHHHHH,” my head spinned. My leg made an awful crunching sound. It hurt.
“Honey, are you ok!!!!!” my mom’s frantic voice filled the car. The truck continued to push the car into the ditch as I held on for dear life. I heard one last crunching sound from my leg, then everything went black.
    I remember waking up feeling pain in my leg and seeing my family and a bunch of nurses and doctors. I remember waking up from surgery and seeing my leg for the first time, beaten and bruised. Swollen twice it’s regular size. It looks better now, not as swollen and it has turned back to its regular color.
    “You ready to go home Bree?” I looked up to see my doctor (also the one who cut my leg off) looking down at me with a huge smile on his face. I quickly threw the blankets back over my legs and gave him an excited/questioning look.
    “Really?!”
    “Sure kiddo. Your dad is waiting outside with the car and your mom will be in here to help you out,” he winked and walked back out to the hallway. My mom replaced him, coming in with a wheelchair and a set of crutches. She looked happy. I picked up the set of crutches.
    “Honey maybe you should use the wheelchair,” her smile slipped from her face.
    “It’s ok mom, I can do it,” I told her reassuringly, but my hands were shaking. We made it out to the car slowly but surely with my mom trailing behind me with the wheelchair.
    “Hello sweety, looking good,” my dad shouted as I exited the building. Instead of making me crutch over to the car, he came over, lifted me, and cared me the rest of the way. After he set me gently in the backseat I started to relax, I was going home.
My lungs were filled with chlorine water and the little oxygen it had in it. Good, my kind of oxygen. I felt my opponents next to me, but I didn’t let them distract me. When I hear a person’s splashes next to me or their staggered breathing. I pushed harder. One more lap, I said to myself, just one more. I moved my arms faster and kicked even faster. I put all my energy to my breathing, arms, and legs. Making sure that that would get me to the finish. I didn’t stop until I felt the smooth wall under the water. I popped my head out of the water seeing my parents standing over me.
“You got first Bree!” my dad screamed, helping me out of the water. I smiled and looked around at the other competitors. My mother slipped a gold medal around my neck. It was fake gold, but it was the thought that counted.
The thing about swimming is you don’t know what place you're in or if you got first or not until the very end. During the race you can feel the racers next to you though, Feel them breathing, splashing, struggling. Doing the same thing you are. The only difference between you and them is the will to keep going. It does not matter if you have a private training coach. If you get in the water on race day and tell yourself that you're too slow and you can’t do it. Then you will never succeed.
I still have the medal at home, its a pretty medal. Two dolphins jump out of the water right in to the words “Brightside swimming conference 1st place.” That race was one of my best. It was also my last.
I break from my trance and stare at my house. The only building I know like the back of my hand. My best friend, but now it feels like I just moved. The oak that Margaret and I used to sneak up to get to my room and have a secret slumber party, now looks dark and lost. The concrete steps that used to be a kind and loving entrance. They are now replaced by a ramp. The fire pit now looks lonely and forgotten.
“Come on dear,” my mom says looking worriedly through my window.
“Coming,” I say, managing a weak smile. My dad didn’t bother with the crutches, he picked me up and carried me into my house. He walked up the old steps that creaked when you stepped on them, and into my room. My room is beautiful, at least thats what I think. The walls are painted a deep ocean blue and all the furniture is either white or the same blue. The best part though is the dolphins. Stuffed animal dolphins, dolphin pillows, pictures of dolphins, posters of dolphins, dolphin pencils and dolphin sticky notes. Dolphins surround my room like a giant parade, just for me.
When my dad left me in peace, I went over to my favorite dolphins. They were engraved into fake gold. They never frowned, never cried, and never fell from their happy state. They were my heroes. I might never be able to swim again like I did before, but I will never stop trying. I will be like my dolphins. I will never stop jumping, never stop smiling, and never stop swimming. I will become my own little happy dolphin.