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....