They say itās kind of euphoric, hypoxia.
Hypoxia.
I roll the word on my tongue, wondering how they came up with it, but my knowledge of the medical realm is lacking. Then again, I donāt know how they came up with euphoria either. They could be two etymologically intertwined words dating back to the stone ages as far as I know.
Sighing, I take in more air than I need and I feel my life tick away that much faster. Like a grain of sand falling into its place at the bottom of an hourglass, I know that my breaths are numbered.
One More Breath.
The alarm at my belt blares out its warning again, drawing the attention of the people around me. We sit under a bridge, the sound of the cars zooming by overhead echoing a static sound that makes me sleepy, but no one comes to my aid. Thereās nothing they can do, their own timers counting down to the same fate as I, just a little bit slower.
I pull myself up against the concrete wall behind me, the muscles in my arms straining with the weight of my torso, I can almost feel them soak up the oxygen that will soon abandon me. I think again of removing the mask, the bug eyed contraption we all wore digging into the lice infected hair at the nape of my neck, but I canāt bring myself to do it. I guess at the end of the day, Iām just a coward.
One More Breath.
I never thought it would end like this, the polluted air slowly seeping into my lungs, poisoning my blood with chemicals that race to my brain and shut down my organs, but I guess life never ends up being exactly what you had pictured.
I used to be somebody. I used to hold the world in my hands. I used to make those around me tremble with fear, fear that they would end up exactly as I am now. All I had to do was utter the wordsā¦ and I did. I spoke them with authority, knowing I was dooming the recipient to a terrible life and a slow death.
Now here I sit, dying that same death I had doled out. Were any of those around me here because of my choice? Noā¦ They would be long dead by now.
One More Breath.
I think of my wife and rub the spot where my ring had been. Long gone now. I wonder if she would have forgiven me for selling it, for selling everything we had built together. A small laugh escapes me. There was so much more that she would never forgive, a small ring would be the cherry on top of the mountain of lies and deceit, but I still canāt help but wonderā¦ would she hold me here, under this bridge as I take my last breath?
One More Breath.
I think of my daughter. The day I held her for the first time, her tiny hand wrapping around my finger so tight. The warmth that filled me as she wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. The joy that burst forth at the sound of her laughter. My heart had grown with her presence in my life, only to be crushed when I found out she wasnāt mine.
One More Breath.
I think of my son. The anxiety when he was born. The fear that she had done it again, and I would never have a child of my own. It had taken three days for the test to come back, and I had distanced myself from him to protect my own heart. Our relationship had never recovered from my decision.
One More Breath.
I think of the accident. I try not to, groaning and twisting my head to look out over the river, but I canāt stop it from looming in front of me. The day had been unusually warm.
The ātreeā had been a safe bet, my daughter immediately climbing to the top to look over the rest of the park, the net beneath her always present in case she fell.
My son had wanted to walk around the lake. She had said no. He had argued. At the end of the day, it was my decision, and I had failed them both. When he went under, I dove in after, but neither of us saw the boat until it was too lateā¦
One More Breath.
Iāve slid down the wall again, but itās too much effort to pull myself up. My stumps lay in front of me, the muscles atrophied like the rest of me. When had I let myself get so bad? Was it this tank or the last?
One More Breath.
The alarm at my belt blares again and I rip it off, throwing it as hard as I can. It doesnāt go far.
One More Breathā¦
They said it was euphoricā¦ the ones who had gone before me had always laughed at the end. Perhaps it wouldnāt be so bad.
One More Breathā¦
Maybe she forgave me? Maybe I could go backā¦
One More Breathā¦
A giggle escapes me as I think of the rotting corpse I would become. They would throw me in the river to float away with the tide. Did rivers have tides?
One More Breathā¦
I think of the daughter that isnāt mineā¦ no, she was mine. She wasā¦ something.
One More Breathā¦
I see them start to gather. They watch me closely, their bug eyed masks making them look like aliens in the shadow of the sun setting.
Oneā¦
Moreā¦
Breathā¦
I think of my daughter, or was it my sonā¦?
Oneā¦
Wifeā¦
Moreā¦
Daughterā¦
Breathā¦
Sonā¦