You awake. It’s hard to breathe, yet strangely easy, is if you’re in a cloud, only it’s all fog. All around you is a field, but only a few steps in front of you can be seen before there’s nothing.

One step. A trail appears, or more of a path. Stepping stones, sized perfect for your feet.

Two steps. The fog grows denser, harder to see, yet easier to breathe. You can barely see a step ahead of you.

Three steps. The fog loosens, calming down a bit, so you can see a few steps to all sides. You can barely breathe. You can almost feel the hands around your neck, strangling you.

Four steps. What was your name again? Your brain is foggy. Just like the fog around you. It’s denser now, and your breathing calms.

Five steps. It rains, pours. Your socks are wet.

Six steps. You’re being strangled again. The rain stopped everywhere except for over you. It’s harder to breathe.

Seven steps. The hands grow threateningly tight around your throat. The rain pouring overtop of you, yet everywhere else the fog seemed to clear. Something grabbed at your ankles. Hands, trying to hold you back.

Eight steps. You can breathe. The rain calms, and you notice now, that it was raining everywhere else the whole time as well. The hands are hovering by your neck and ankles, but they’re waiting for something.

Nine steps. The hands don’t dare come closer. You can breathe, though it’s not clean air. The rain leaves, the sun shining through the fog.

Ten steps. You can breathe, clean, fresh air. It’s no longer raining, and the fog is light, rays of sunlight shining through. A flower, blooming by your feet. The stepping stones end here.

So this is what it feels like to survive.