All I can hear in my ears is my heartbeat: Ba-bump Ba-bump Ba-bump. All I can taste is salt, as the water envelopes me, holding me down, soft and heavy like a cold blanket: Ba-bump Ba-bump Ba-bump. My throat is straining for air, reaching for a breath I might never get. It’s loud and panicked; I feel my fingers searching, grasping for something to hold on to, but find only water, feeling small, scared and alone. I slowly give in, Ba-bump Ba-bump Ba-bump…
I walk into my house, greeted by the smell of chicken noodle soup: “sit down, we’re about to eat” my Dad says, leading me to the dining room, I see my brother already there, with his big goofy smile, I smile back but then my mouth begins to water. A bowl somehow made for me, is sitting on the smooth wood of the table, calling to me. I walk over and take a big bite; the soup tastes like heaven. It goes down slowly and warms my belly. I feel safe, Ba-bump.
I find myself in my room, in the coziest pajamas, surrounded by scented candles and warm air: I feel comfortable. Laying in bed, like laying in clouds, the sheets of silk, cotton blankets, and a sweet smell in the air, I feel myself slowly relaxing. I hear my heartbeat slow, and take a deep breath in, Ba-bump.
I swallow water, not remembering how I got out. The taste of salt still stuck in my mouth. Warm air is getting colder and colder and colder. I use my hands to feel where I am, once again finding nothing. It’s dark and what I thought was cold now feels numb, like this numbness is crawling up my body, spreading this feeling of… unfeeling. I can’t feel anything, I can’t hear anything, I’m alone. I’m in nothing, enveloped by nothing and soon I will be nothing, Ba-bump.
In my head though, I see everything: my brother’s smile, I hear my Dad’s voice, I smell chicken noodle soup, I feel the softness of my sheets, my heart is content. I am content. I bask in the memories of the happy times, because I can remember. 7 minutes is more than enough time to cope, I don’t need to find that next breath, I am dead.
“When a person dies, they have 7 minutes of brain activity left. It’s the mind playing back the person’s memories in a dream.”- unknown
Asha Ireland
Grade: 12 / CEGEP I
H.B. Beal Secondary School
London, ON
Bio
Asha Ireland is a grade 12 student from downtown London. She loves creating stories, sharing ideas and creating art. Much of her writing is based in fiction, integrating real world problems. This stems from her unique perspective as a native youth and young woman.