Holding Your Breath--a scene

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Sitting up in bed, your steady gaze settles on the mirror across the room. You see yourself, a sickly girl with thin hair and shaded eyes. your stomach growls from lack of food, but you’re too weak to satisfy it. your hands lay limp in your lap and your eyelids are heavy and nearly closed. the buzzing in you head and the hunger gnawing at your bones makes sleep impossible. you sigh, a sharp pain in your chest. The door creeks open, the little hope you have rising. But when its open, you see that it was just a draft echoing through out the old Victorian home. Your eyes go back to your own in the cracked mirror. You see tears forming in them and a slow burning ache takes over your lungs. You take a breath and it recedes. You exhale, and then its back again. you hold your breath. You hold it until your vision is fading and fuzzy and your lungs and ribcage feel as if it may explode, or collapse. But right when the room is dark and your throat is closed and your chest is hitting your backbone, you take a breath. The cool air of the room opens the blocked tunnels inside of you and expands your lungs and chest and mind. Your vision is gone and back at the same time. now you know how important oxygen is, and you know the feeling of close death. But you’ve been knowing that. You’ve been living on the edge of death for the past year. The hospital nights, countless. The crying at night, endless. You wait and wait and wait for the time to come. For the cancer to take you out. you used to fear death, but now you plead for it.

You hold your breath.