Asphyxiate

The girls have been sitting and laughing their life away for what seems like a decade as a dark obsidian pupil in an almost carmine background stares at their form, like A whirlpool to an abyss amidst blood soaked ocean. It remains transfixed, inanimate as its gaze looms over the innocent lives. The master of this revolting sense doesn't move, afraid that one of them sitting facing it might notice. But as she turns to leave with the flock, it accosts them. The creature moves as if it was lightening, flanking them on the side, right next to the beautiful lady in pink shirt and shoulder length hair, Eyes studded with onyx pearls, the one whose smile was a diamond among rubies.

"Don't breathe" it says. Its voice reverberates and trembles. It sounds almost like an animal that has learned to speak.

First they recoil, screaming from the surprise and fright as instinct commands them to. Then they hear the fiendish voice, but it is not until they see it that the real terror floods their souls. Burned like ash and embers for eyes, it towers over them, adorning itself with dilapidated skin.

"DON'T BREATHE!" It roars at the fleeing girls. "don't breathe" it whispers.

The boy loved the world and its wonders. He loved to live. He would take a step then almost regretting it, he would stop, trying to drink in everything that had changed in the world this instant. He loved to breathe in the smell of rain, drink in the summer breeze, Revell in the colors of autumn and contemplate under the overcast firmament of December. He could feel the planet move. So he would take his bag off his shoulder, sit next to the lonely road that lead to the residential apartments and watch. The elderly Oak struggling to bend, the juvenile grass dancing to the rhythm of the day, the young fauna beginning to bud and the tall young fruit bearing orchids. Then he would wonder at their colors. Then he would imagine conversations. This was the beauty of the world, and the boy saw it.

No day was dull, no day was the same. He used to envisage a war of gods in storms and caravans of gypsies that travelled the stars he saw in the summer nights. He used to see stories in movements of nature and legends behind every crack in the wall. Behind the cage of his glassy eyes, his imagination ran rampant like an enraged bear, mauling everything it saw. The carnage it caused was alluring and bewitching. But the bear consumed and never went to hibernate. The beast hid the world in front of him, but he still saw glimpses of it and one day, the knight came to slay the dragon. With this perilous task achieved, he rested his lethargic mind. Instinct made him inhale, and held him in this singular breath. When he woke, the world had transformed.

He used to eagerly wait for the bell, when the pupils were dispelled, dreaming of how he would reach home and then head out to call his friends to gather and start a festival. They played until the moon was high in the sky. They played until their mothers dragged them out of the streets. They would conjure up mountain paths and magma to divide the street and sidewalk, imagine jumping on solitary rocks suspended in the air. The wonder that these children conjured up in the games they played was nothing short of miraculous. And then before he was dragged to sleep, he would head upstairs, and as he gazed at the empyrean, he took a deep breath and drank the world in. This was life and it was absolutely singular. They would wake again, play again, live again. They would talk about wonders that to anyone else would sound like insanity. With ceaseless brilliance and boundless energy, these red dwarfs among men would hold the galaxy suspended in an aether of ravishing stupor. But as the night fell their bones grew ever so frail under the colossal weight. He approaches his bed almost deprived of strength. He breathes the world in and while he sleeps, something else wakes. It thrashes the system and churns the world. The cosmos acquiesces. Under this coercion, it contorts and evolves, it crumbles and reforms.

He stands alone, fighting invisible enemies, confined to his room. The world has collapsed to the bounds of four walls, a floor and a ceiling. His allies have fallen to various perils overnight. They now wander the garden of lovers. They now talk about girls, wondering about the feelings that flow in their veins. The girls dream about princes, of a life drowned in this ecstatic tender passion. They talk about things that belong and are bound by this realm, of life beyond today, about the world as it is while he dances alone to ballads of victory. These four walls, unbeknownst to him, will become his only solace. Tomorrow when he meets these new brethren of his, they will wave at him from across a tumultuous ocean, standing on another continent that he had yet to discover.

The gentle breeze welcomed him to the evergreen fields. It's enrapturing and breathtaking, daubed in the color of passion. He trods the rows of roses, each printed with her smile. He rests under the shadow of the Oak, whose branches dance gracefully like her hair. He feels the sun shine on him, warming him to the core like her captivating countenance. Then he gazes into the deep green lake tainted blue at the edges, deep and magnificent, like her eyes. He found his way to this paradise or maybe he was seduced into it, but either way, he was entrapped. 

She was diligent and studious. She was summer in January. She was vibrant melodies in a colorless silent cosmos. She was fire, consuming his attention and imagination and if she was to consume him, so be it. It would have been poetic. He would wake up eager to go to class just so that his eyes could spend the day worshipping her, so that his daydreams could weave a world worth her beauty, so that his ears could hear her sing. She was always there, when he woke up, when he walked, when he talked, even when he slept. He entered the Elysian fields and stayed there, never leaving. He let the aroma of her existence become the only force that sustained him. Every breath was infused with adoration, and he rarely let them slide, not wanting to let even a piece of her leave him if he could. So he took a deep breath and held it, letting it fuel his mind, which like a smitten wizard, conjured her up. It took years to take it in, but by the time he let her out, she was already gone.

Graduation had come, and only now he realized that she was going somewhere he couldn't follow. For the first time in his life it dawned on him that he burned the time to fuel the life he lived in his head. And so in one breath, he lost his place among the fallen and blessed. He walks home from the bus stand. Next week is the farewell ceremony before the final exams. He walks slowly, dragging his feet, reluctantly. His pace is slow and forced, but steady. Until it isn't. He feels his feet falter. He looks down on them, inquiring what had gone wrong but before they could answer, his vision blurs and something falls burning a spot into the cement beneath him.

A snake moves in his belly, he can feel it slither, eating and biting, It can’t escape but it tries. It tries until it loses energy, then goes quiet, leaving him with a token to remember him by, until it wakes again.

He is punctual and attends all his lectures. Diligently make notes for almost all his subjects. But he never learns. He sits, eyes wide open, dreaming. He breathes slowly, trying to make his dreams last longer. It is rarely about the angel that slipped from his life and mostly about him. He pictures himself sitting next to a quietly moving river, surrounded by a mist that tries to hide the pine trees surrounding him enmass. He finds himself on the edge of small hills with short grass for fur, that move indicating wind. He fantasizes himself sitting in his room, looking out his window as the stratosphere unleashes its sorrow in a violent downpour and thunderous cries. And that is it. Until one day, in another breath, he stands at the gate of his university, with a paper testifying that he had adequate knowledge of his subject and that he was ready to apply it. Ironically, if only someone would have asked him what is real, they would see his perplexity, not at the calibre of the question, but at his inability to know the answer.

A solar storm hits him as he sleeps without rest. He won't let time nibbling at his feet ever since he was born to outpace him. He won't be beaten without a fight. He could still bargain for a life with this magnanimous conqueror. He works incessantly, sifting through books like a demented genius. He absorbs most of what he reads, and understands at least half of it. The only rest he has is the roar of the bear he locked away. Its resounding wails and tumultuous livid screams often echo through his head. They are strong enough to grasp his head and chain it again to its will.

The only solace is the short haired beauty whose company keeps the monster muffled. Her enchanting voice keeps his entrenched in his ways. He feels the world move now, noting its velocity. He doesn't need a clock to perceive the relentless march of time. But she gives him hope. So he decides to dream again with her. He drowns himself in his means, drowns the beast in the mechanical noise of his mind struggling to keep up. He cuts time out, like he always has, obsessed with his work until he achieves something. He hasn't been in touch for some time, but it has all been worth it, he theories. Life has imbued him with some sense of practicality. He looks up her number, she seems to be active. His mind furiously searches for words. Something pops up. It's work. He isn't going to rush his dream. So he takes a deep breath telling himself he will finish his work and speak to her when he can. It takes a couple of days, but he finds the moment. He sits on a plastic chair in a drab room. He has always been smart with his money, never spending it on things he didn't want, and for years, he has only wanted one thing. It is hard, but he takes his time. He inhales all his feelings he had kept encased in his heart, and lets it write the words. He holds it in until he sees her reply and then breathes out relief.

She is ecstatic to meet him and eager. They meet up one Sunday, and he dresses up, for the first time in his life. He is nervous but idyllic. She walks in, her eyes meeting his, and she takes strides to reach him. Her short hair on her shoulder, trying to touch it. It's a plain pink dress, but she still looks ravishing. No jewellery could adorn her, they would always fall short.

Time was indeed magnanimous, to some. It had blessed her with a loving husband, and a caring family. It has been quick, the way she fell into his arms, but she swore she would trade a thousand lifetimes to live this one with him again. As he reaches his small uncomfortable bed, he takes a deep breath and then shatters.

He cries and screams alone in his room as the thoughts in his head wage wars. To keep his focus long enough to eat his meal in time is an impossible task. He sits for eternity after consuming a morsel before taking another. The snake, always nibbling, reminding him of its presence, now has fangs. Every time it bites, it melts his insides with its poison. It has grown ten folds now, in size and strength, consuming his sorrow and regret, which were plentiful. The bear has all but chewed through his confines. Now decayed from its incarceration, it now mauls and turns the world into a nightmare. He doesn't have the strength to silence two beasts when he could barely restrain one. He cries in agony most nights, in rage on the other ones. There is nothing he could do to slay the demons, all he could hope for is for them to tire themselves out before his body and mind succumb to its wounds. He endures the best he can, only letting the solitude know his pain. Then one night, they quiet down, after almost rending him to pieces. He stays home, recuperating from this disease that had almost killed him. He takes a deep breath as he reaches the door of his office building. From now, he will start to put things back together. But now he doesn't need to work anymore, his employees could do with someone better.

As he tried to breathe in the world and its wonders, painting it with the vividness of his brilliant mind, time never ceased. It was ruthless. If only he had moved instead of standing, if only he had worked instead of dreaming, if only he could stop himself from breathing decades away. Yes! That's it! His breath stole his life. Every moment he spent breathing in the world and its wonders, every breath he tried to feel, every moment his breath let him slow down time without telling him that it was an illusion because time slows down for no one.

Thirty Nine years of age, nothing material to his name. A dragon roasting his flesh before consuming it, a bear eating his mind. All because he lost himself in every breath he took. All because he let the world wait for one. All because he wanted to devour the world in every breath. His eyes are black in front of a bloodshot sclera. He is small in stature, his skin wrinkled and contorted adorned by torn and rotting rags. He grinds his teeth, his physiognomy wears fury and sorrow. His eyes bleed drops of the ocean.

"Don’t breathe.”