Page 68 of Fragmented Illusions

I’m suffocating.

“Okay…” She drops her hand and I grab my things but when I step past her and rush to the exit, I can feel her eyes trailing me every step of the way.

Once I escape the confines of the theater, I book it down the sidewalk. Snow falls steadily all around me, blanketing the night in white. I tuck my head down and wrap my arms around myself.

I slowly start to feel the flakes soaking into the fabric of my coat, chilling me to the bone as I meander around. The night slowly grows colder, and my feet are now numb, indicating I have been walking for far longer than it feels.

I’m lost in a whirl of white as I force my legs to move through the snow piling up around me. It’s falling heavier now, turning into thick slop on the ground. There aren’t many cars out, so in my peripheral I can see much of the snow remains untouched.

Untainted.

Pure.

The opposite of everything I am.

I come to a crosswalk and glance up to see what the light says. My head is heavy between my shoulders. The box on the black pole flashes an orange hand, indicating it’s not “safe” to walk across. I snort and a chuckle burns its way up my throat at the irony.

The chuckle quickly turns into full body laughter. I clutch my stomach as pain slices its way through my intestines before spilling out of me uncontrollably. Tears trail down my cheekbones, their heat burning my frigid skin.

I double over as I suck air in between my teeth. My ribcage feels too small to encase my lungs. The fragile, curved bones digging into the soft tissue, puncturing it with tiny pinpricks. My lungs slowly start to fill with a fluid, drowning me from the inside.

I can’t inhale.

I can’t exhale.

My knees dig into the cold, snow-covered ground as I curl in on myself. I scream at my body to breathe. Just to fuckingbreathe.

I feel my body start to shut down without the primary life source keeping me alive.

A smile pulls at my lips as I think; this is how I die. Ironic how I thought it was going to be two serial killers who would bring me to my deathbed, but instead I die at my own hand.

I guess that’s always how I pictured it.

Look up.

LOOK UP, FALLON.

My body shakes uncontrollably as I focus on the voice. I put every ounce of my concentration on It, using It to anchor me.

I feel the smallest amount of air rush into my lungs, and I sob at the relief flushing through my veins as they get the faintest hit of what they crave.

The taste of oxygen is headier than the feeling of alcohol coursing through your veins. More than any fucking drug in existence.

The taste of life on the brink of your death is enough to ruin you.

Look.

Up.

I suck in another shaky breath as I force my heavy head up, inch by inch, until I’m staring up at the black sky—except it’s not black. It’s more of a dark gray with a purple, pink haze. The snow floats and swirl around in thick white flakes. My eyes try to follow their path, but they dance through the air chaotically.

My eyes flutter closed as they caress my skin, almost as if they are kissing me.

I wonder if this is what death feels like. The tranquility. The silence.

Thefreedom.

I pull full, relieving breaths into my lungs now. They come easily, almost lazily. And I’m no longer afraid.