B.R.E.A.T.H.E.

Chapter 5: Questions Require Answers (2/3)

    "Get over here!" A mist fogs my view. The darkness was slowly engulfing my eyesight, taking grasp of any chance of my will to live. They were taking too long; maybe hesitating in anticipation that he might leave.

    The grass crinkled as the weight being set upon it, only to slowly rise as the leather boots took down another of their rather large tribe. Their warnings were of great help to me.

    As I slowly backed into the bushes, the branches behind me waved their salutations. The wind was strong that night—loud, to say the least, but nothing seemed to cover my heavy ventilation.

    I inhale and exhale, my ears exploding at the waves of breath circulating through my airways. Yes, it was a pleasure to breathe, but every single time was a threat.

    A flash of a faint vermillion and a shining, sterling silver lines the brush. The overcast of an emotionally-torn man throws itself to my left. My head flows sharply to right and my gaze painfully turns with my body.

    I run—as fast as I can, not looking back. And once I slip behind a tree, a light drizzle begins through the sliver of light revealing itself over the horizon.

    I thump my head upon oak behind me, my breath seizing as my legs weakened in weariness. My sharply-cut, bobbed hair rubbed against the rugged tree's terrain. 

   I sigh, feeling the tension, in which was once chained to me like a pack of rabid dogs trying to desperately escape, slowly drain from my mind and muscles. I was almost free, all I had to do was leap into faith and run forward.

   'You can–and will–do this.' Confidence shook my brain with reasoning. I was ready. It was time for me to jump into the unknown and escape to the realm of freedom.

    This Hell I used to live in will be my past, and will forever stay behind me. All I have to do is ru—

   "A tree is an unwise choice, my darling," my breath suddenly holts. My eyes close and my neck pricks with shivers racing down my spine.

    I shudder at the sound of the nightmare's vocals. I was ready; I almost made it. Why couldn't I just stop thinking and live in reality?

    The dark freckles stare teasingly into my pupils. My irises bored the color from them, and my blood vessels' red spread through the whites that remained.

    He smiled—as wide as I've seen anyone do. And as he raised his arm, the knife shone in the darkness. He lowered his head, his face becoming more eerie than it was before.

"My sweetheart; might I say...it is finished,"

   "NO!" I cry, practically leaping from my sheets, not truly realizing the flashback. I violently shook and tears quickly pooled into the lower basin of my eye-sockets.

    I didn't move—nor could I; I just stared into the vast realm of captivity of my hospital room. I was paralyzed, and my doctor—stunned out of his mind, took his shaky hand to my cheek's platform.

    "Leslie, I-," my head lifts till my eyes fixate into his. "I..never knew," the bags under my eyes lift with the rhythm of my under-eyes as I squinted in confusion. The mesmerizing, green meadows that make up his pigmented irises deeply penetrated into my fear-worthy, ocean blue ones.

    "W...what?" I clearly couldn't remember a thing.

    "You were...talking. I heard it all," he claimed, frowning with nothing but a emotionless face.

    "I-I didn't know...honestly," my gaze shifts down to the ground. "I'm sorry, I...really am....Gah--!"

    The fire that burned through my body sensed freedom and quickly came pleading back. Throbs and aches mobbed and threw down what couldn't be saved; my wrists and arms gave way, therefore making me harshly plop back onto the hard mattress.

    I started shaking, screaming; I couldn't control anything. I stared at him with a dreadful sort of gaze.

     'HELP ME,' is all I could muster up, but it only was a thought. He stares at me in fear, and backs away towards a fairly large computer, it's slightly old look tricking my eyes into thinking this was a flashback.

     "I will," he says, strangely reading my mind. He grips his fists and lifts his arms to the keyboard. I was shaking too much; I couldn't read the letters.

    My heart beat flew off the monitor, the beeps triggering and shaking the room.

     I knew I was slowly trickling away.

     The young doctor's familiar red locks colorized through the dusty mist—in which coated my sight.

   I reached out to him; he stopped typing as he took my hand and squeezed. Everything flashed after that with the pigment of bright pinks, greens, blues, and yellows. He gingerly placed my his remaining hand onto my forehead and pushed down.

    He screamed names and desperately stared. He tugged at my wrists and kissed my palm. In a sort of cry, he whispered:

    "I...I can't lose you,"