The vivacious crowd roared as their three grand finalists stepped up onto their designated spots on the dais one by one.

"Why must they cheer so loud?" Jerome thought to himself. He couldn't stand their gaze, mocking him as the silver medallion was placed over his neck. Silver, an ugly colour, created for the sole purpose of failure.

As he stood down from the podium, he was consumed by embarrassment. He could feel his face redden as photographers and fans swarmed him. He had to get away from them. Only then would he be able to think clearly. The doctor told his parents, even before he was born, that he would be a winner. That doctor couldn't have been more wrong. Yet again, he was facing defeat, and he was sick of the vicious cycle.

"Would just once hurt!?" he muttered angrily to no one in particular. 

That doctor said he would be the best, so why was he still coming second. He had one year left, and it didn't look promising. His times had gradually gotten worse since the start of his career, and he had become certain nothing would change regardless.  

"They will never remember what I have achieved, for it is not considered an achievement. I will just be lost in the endless amounts of paper and data." Swimming was his whole life, and he had started to realise that maybe his goal of a gold medal was far beyond his abilities. In his mind, he doubted if he would ever attain that glorious gold.

He disappeared into the surge of people, clenching the silver medallion in his fist. As he neared the gates, he began to conjure up a plan inside his head. He allowed a smirk to show as something came to mind.

They will remember me, just not like this. 

He exited the gates to stand in front of the busy highway. From the intersection further up, a silver sedan rounded the corner.

"This one will do just fine," Jerome schemed in his head. He had the one chance to forever escape his defeat and any humiliation that would come from future occurrences. He waited and listened to the quiet hum of the engine growing louder as it approached him.

His sudden movement into the car's path was greeted with pungent smoke and the deafening squeal of the sedan's locked brakes, unable to prevent the impending collision. Just before the spine shattering impact, Jerome felt it- the horrible feeling he shouldn't have been feeling. The terror of realising that he had made a big mistake. 

The bumper crumpled under the force of the impact burdened upon it. The windshield shattered into a myriad of fissures, as splatters of blood glistened red upon it. When the car finally came to a halt, his stiff body slid onto the road. Jerome's twisted body laid splayed awkwardly on the hot, dusty bitumen. He heaved as he tried to force air into his constricted lungs.

"This pain; it is as if every bone in my body is broken." 

He tried to lift his head which felt as if it was anchored to the ground. The screams and yelling around him started to fade becoming just louder than a whisper. People were touching him, shaking him, pleading for him to stay awake. He could feel his medal still firmly clenched in his hand, as if it had become one with him. The sun burned his eyes as his vision, too, started to cease. The pain was starting to subside, Jerome becoming almost numb. He embraced the depths, drifting further into the dark. Through the inaudibility of his thoughts, he felt it, the cold darkness that edged him closer to the eternal peace he was longing to find, and he let it consume him.

---

Into his cloud of darkness came the flicker of lights. What was going on? It was followed by a sharp, painful twinge that ran along his upper spine. He ignored it, hoping for it to go away. Suddenly, another intense and searing sensation ripped through his body, waking him from his lengthened slumber. 

As he started to become more conscious, his body rhythmically throbbed in time with the monitor beside his bed. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but he knew he was not on the road anymore.

Though at first blurry, his vision returned to its original state, allowing him to see exactly where he was. The overpowering odour of disinfectant burned his nostrils. It was an ICU ward. The cords monitoring his heart and blood pressure and the fluid drip were like vines, entangling his life in their grip. He was confused. Wasn't he supposed to have been rid of this world? Why was he still here! He could see x-rays on a panel, illuminated from behind. Were the x-rays his? If so, maybe they explained the agony he vaguely remembered?

"Good morning, Mr Morrow," a deep voice interrupted his thoughts. 

He turned his throbbing and bandaged head slowly to see a doctor standing before him. The pain killers and other varieties of medicine made his body feel as if made of lead, making movement even more difficult than it already was.

"How are you feeling?"

Jerome tried to answer him, but all he could do was moan. To be polite for his incapability to answer, he tried to sit up.

The doctor seemed to lurch forward. "Mr Morrow, you must remain lying still. You will only exacerbate your injuries further if you try to move."

He was confused once again. How could he make them worse? 

After a slight pause, the doctor continued talking. "In the accident, amongst other things, you have injured your lower spinal cord affecting your neural elements." 

Surely, he didn't hear him right. He can't have heard him right! 

"I am sorry. I am afraid that you have lost all functioning of your legs. The feeling may come back to them, but we highly doubt that being an option in your particular situation." 

Jerome couldn't believe him. He tried to move one of his legs but surely enough, he couldn't feel it. Panic almost consumed him. 

"Are my legs even there!"  He thought to himself "What have I done!?"  The sudden realisation came to him with such a force that it left him breathless. 

Not only didn't he die, but he managed to make his life a whole lot worse.