I am dressed in all white and covered in feathers and wings meant to look like an angel, but the backstage lights cast me in a red glow. I am strapped into a harness that slowly raises me from the floor. I am standing in for someone who could not be there, I do not know the routine, and I am about to be judged by a large audience once the curtain rises, but I feel no fear, and I know that whatever happens I will do my best. Someone in the wings mumbles that we should not be allowed to perform because we are not very good, but I sneer at him between clenched teeth, after all, what has he ever done, forever lurking as a crew member to the real ensembles. The crowd assembles, the curtain is pulled, and we begin, swinging ourselves up onto the stage with mighty strength, only I don’t make it the first time, or the second. My partner across from me strains to help me, and finally, the third time is the charm and I am pulled into the safety of the rafters. The audience claps anyways, they know I have tried hard, though I have accomplished little, and I am all smiles through my sweat knowing that I failed, but proud for trying.