Prompt: Asthma Attack
Fandom: Original
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Away. I need to get away. Anywhere, it doesn’t matter.
He’s going to find me soon. I can’t hide in here forever. All it would take is for him to hear my breathing, to pinpoint my location. Oh gods, what will he do to me when he finds me? I can’t exactly go anywhere when he does, I hardly even have room to move. He’ll -he’ll grab my arm and yank me out. Or maybe he will go for my hair. He’s done it before, he knows it hurts and it’s easy for him to hold, hard for me to get out of.
I have to get out before it is too late. He’ll kill me for running again, but if he can’t find me, I have nothing to worry about.
I hold my breath, listening intently to what’s outside of my small cabinet. The kitchen cabinets. How stupid of an idea it was. I only pray that the pans don’t fall when I scurry out.
No one seems to be near. After all, it is the middle of the night. Nobody in their right mind would wonder into the kitchen so late, or perhaps early. It was dark outside as I ran through the halls, but there was a certain tinge of color. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sun is rising by now.
Slowly, I push the door open. I can feel every one of my tensed muscles. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut as I anticipate a screech of the small door or the clashing of pans or anything. To my surprise, silence meets my ears as I crawl out. Well, as silent as it can be with the constant ringing in my ears.
I stay low, back hunched as I walk between the counters. What if he’s in here? I still have to be cautious.
My eyes sting as I continue walking towards the large doors, both the entrance and exit. He could just be waiting on the other side of this door. He could have known the whole time that I’ve been hiding here and this was his game to play. If he catches me…oh gods, I can’t- I don’t want to think about it. He could do anything to me.
My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t seem like any air truly reaches my lungs. I try again. My breath seems more shaky and I notice a knot in my chest. A few tears slide down my cheeks as my hand rests on the handle. I keep trying to calm myself, but breaths aren’t working. It’s like I’m not even breathing at all. But I know I am. I’m trying so why doesn’t it feel like it?
I yank the door open, doing my best to ignore my nonexistent breaths. No one is there and luckily the door hardly made a noise. The larger doors tend to be louder if you open them slowly.
There is no sign of him. I should be relieved, but my chest still feels tight, like there are strings attached on either side with two people pulling the opposite directions. It seems the only way to get any air at all is to breath quickly and so I do. Each breath is just as fast as the door yanking open.
My head instinctively turns right and left as if checking for a horse to cross even in the halls. There is no sign of him anywhere. Did I dream the chase up? Is he lying in bed just as I should be?
Of course he is. He has to be. He couldn’t just disappear like this if it weren’t a dream. He always makes himself known. Always. It’s his way of intimidation, a reminder that at any point he could exploit your weaknesses. He could strike at any moment and you should be afraid. Fear is his power. He feeds off of it and I’m foolish enough to be the bowl he eats out of.
Should I go back to bed then? Perhaps if, in my dream, I lie back down and rest my eyes, this will end and the only thing I should worry about in my sleep is waking up and making it to breakfast in time.
But if this is a dream, why do my lungs still feel so incredibly absent?
Footsteps sound down the hall to my left. Air catches in my throat. If it were heels clicking against the floor, I wouldn’t worry so much. However, there is no sharp click. Rather, a dull thud. Boots. His boots.
If I run, I’ll give away where I’m at. But if I walk he’ll most certainly catch up to me. What do I do? I could go back into the kitchens, but then how would I ever get out if he walked in?
My shoes make no sound as I set them on the floor. And my feet make the softest “boom” I have heard. Mother used to joke I had the padded feet of a rabbit. Pray they help me now.
“Sister, it’s rather late to play tag!” Even with distance, I can hear his steps becoming faster, louder. He is closer. He’s chasing me, “tag” he said. He’s turning it into a game, just as he always does.
I push myself harder, faster. I have to get away from him, away from here. These halls, this palace, this whole kingdom.
A needle pierces my side, putting a hault in my tracks. My hands push against the spot as I inhale sharply. It only makes it worse and a cry slips from my lips. The sting won’t stop. I can’t breathe. Every time I take a breath- every time it stings. I can’t- oh gods. Oh gods, I can’t breathe.
I can feel the sweat bead in my forehead before it begins to pour down. I want to cry, to scream, but it hurts. Oh it hurts so much. I can’t breathe at all. My breath is caught at the back of my throat and even with an open mouth, nothing passes the knot in my throat.
I’m gawking, strange noises escaping my throat as I struggle so hard to live.
He approaches me on the floor, kneeling. I didn’t even realize I had fallen to the floor. When? Was it when my vision began to swim beneath water? As black blurs began to appear?
He taps my shoulder. “Tag. I win.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head several times. I will them several more times to stay open, to fight the unconsciousness about to inevitably take me. Eventually, any strength I have fades. The last thing I see…my brother…white teeth…lips quirked at the corners…and then? Nothing.
you mean like this?
EXACTLY LIKE THIS. This is from 2019!! How did- where did you get this???