Good evening all,
I have created an actual website! It is similar and different to this, one of my many passions besides of course writing is in fact gaming. I will be blogging about writing and gaming on this website. Please check it out @ http://www.creativelyanzy.com
Also want to thank this amazing youtube video (OHKLYN – How to make your own website 2018 / Divi WordPress tutorial) for helping me build the website from scratch it still needs fine tuning though!
To sleep no more
“If I die, I won’t blame you, I promise,” Amelia said earnestly.
Dipender flinched and he stared at her for a long moment before walking over to her and kneeling down so they were eye-level.
“Don’t say that. Don’t even think like that, you can fight –”
“I heard you talking to the nurse earlier,” Amelia said taking the oxygen mask off her face, “and I just want you to know that I don’t blame, just don’t lie to me.”
Dipender blinked a few times, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat, he told himself that crying in front of patients was wrong especially children who looked at him with eyes aged beyond their years.
“I’m going to call your parents. I’m going to make sure they are here.” He promised taking her hand and he saw her try and hide a wince as the monitor beeped, Dipender let go immediately.
“You don’t always have to be so strong, it’s okay to tell me when it hurts,” He said, annoyed at himself for letting his voice break, angry at the world for wanting to even try and take this little girl’s life and powerless in his need to save her.
“It hurts all the time, so I have to be strong all the time.” Amelia said her voice modulated her gaze unwavering.
Dipender felt the moisture build in his eyes as he held her gaze. He carefully put the oxygen mask back on her face.
“It’s okay, it really is,” she said reaching forward and patting him on the arm lightly, as if he needed reassuring, as if the action didn’t cost her everything.
He didn’t even want to imagine the level of pain she would have endured to become that resilient.
“I’m going to call them, I’m going to…” he trailed off as she shrugged as though it didn’t matter to her.
I wake up and I’m gasping for breath, I glance at the oxygen reader in the room, it’s dipped dangerously low, I hastily grab for my personal canister – it’s empty. I’m frantic now and I shouldn’t be, because hyperventilating means I’m using up more air than I should. I have to meditate like they teach us in school but the nightmare I had is still keeping the adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart is pumping double time which means I am breathing in too much air. I close my eyes and try to reduce the breaths I’m taking. It takes me a few minutes but I finally do.
My eyes are on the dial which reads twenty percent as I go and shower and prepare for school. I’m annoyed at myself; this is the fourth night in a row. We can’t afford to keep buying more air.
At breakfast everyone is upset as Dad tells us he has been put on reduced hours at work. Mum has tears in her eyes but squeezes his hand and assures him that they will increase his hours again soon.
“Stupid machines taking over all our jobs!” My brother says angrily stabbing at his meal, like everything we eat it comes in a can, made by a machine, produced in a lab.
“I want none of that anti machine talk at this table.” Mum says sternly.
I sit there feeling even worse not sure that I can tell them my personal canister is empty.
“Did you sleep better today?” Mum asks me.
I look up feeling guilty and shake my head.
“My canister is also empty,” I admit quietly.
“It’s alright, use one of mine, I start work late, I’ll use an old canister.” Dad says giving me a smile.
I nod fighting the tears and go into his room to grab a canister, it’s almost empty but it should last me through the day.
“Well Grandma is coming around today, and she always brings a few high quality canisters,” Mum says when I walk back into the kitchen.
I smile, I haven’t had actual fresh air in several months, everything in the city is recycled air – very few places still have fresh air, the air they pump out at school is borderline unbreathable – borderline so we still have to breathe it in.
I check my canister in at reception when I get to school, I feel embarrassed as the receptionist checks it in as an industrial tank but I don’t care or at least that’s what I tell myself as I remove my mask and walk into lesson. The air at institutions and most public places is thrice recycled but our school it is recycled four times, you can recycle air six times before you through it away – although anything past five is basically hazardous.
I suffer through my lessons – all they ever teach is how to build machine and how to repair machines, that’s all we are taught, all else is pointless, only if you are really clever can you actually design machines, my brother is one of the elite, he will get to design machines when he graduates this year, but me, I’m scheduled to be a repairer and even that I hate. I would rather paint – which isn’t even a real job, just a hobby, I could always paint the machines. I laugh and get a few looks as we all queue to get our personal canisters back. I put my canister on my own personal hover board along with my backpack as I make my way home.
My Grandma who I haven’t seen in a few years greets me at the door – she hates the city because of the air, and we usually travel to her, but since mum lost her job a few years back we can’t afford to travel anymore.
My eyes as always stray to the oxygen monitor it’s full of once recycled air, my jaw almost lands on the floor.
I look at Grandma and she beams at me – I almost knock her over when I hug her.
I breathe deeply and the air even smells delicious the feeling is different it’s almost too much for my lungs to manage – I’ve only ever had twice recycled air and that was an experience I can’t even imagine what fresh air must be like because this is amazing.
I breathe deeply for a few minutes before mum gives me a look and I default back to my shallow breathing that we are all trained on doing at school only rich people are allowed to breathe deeply.
Grandma stays for a week and it gives Mum the opportunity to try and go out to try and look for odd jobs – Grandma helps me with my homework and she tells me that when she was fifteen the town they lived in people didn’t walk around with canisters, I can hardly believe her – of course I’ve heard rumours but the idea of walking outside and just breathing air terrifies me – it’s so murky out there I can imagine my lungs giving out after taking only a few breaths. I tell Grandma and she laughs and tells me she used to sit on fields and just watch the sky without a canister of air – she could breathe the air outside – the pollution wasn’t that bad then.
I look out the window; at the heavy smog in the air that looks noxious and wonder what life would be like if we all didn’t have to carry around canisters of oxygen just so that we could breathe.