I’ve heard these rumors all my life. The agony you are sure to face if you ever find yourself banished to The Whispers. I’ve always mocked them. Disregarded the tales of woe as old wives tales and rambling from cowards who don’t know how definite the slice of a blade is.

Surely banishment cannot be worse than death, for there is no coming back from the latter.

I hold my chin high as I am place...

Your eyes stare in front

The fluorescent lights flicker

You can’t believe it

You take a deep breath

But your lungs contract inward

Your nose is running

You fall down slowly

Knees hitting the cold hard ground

A hand on your back

You find yourself mute

Mouth agape and tremebling

A distant hand soothes

Your tears and snot fall

Into your wavering mouth

You barely taste it...

It feels as if you can feel yourself flat lining. The lump caught in your throat as you search for the words that were there only moments ago. Staring glassy eyed at the person in front of you; Lover turned into stranger. All of the late nights, shared laughter, and giddy moments fight for your attention, but they find themselves lost among the tears, screams, and agony that now seem unbearable.

...

He couldn’t help but notice the small tattoo with the word “breathe” on her right shoulder. It struck him as ironic in the moment and he could barely stifle his laughter, instead going for a quiet snicker that satisfied his urge. He remembered the last time he saw her breathe and he is sure she wished she was able to stop sooner....