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Sometimes he felt as if he was living a time that was not supposed to be lived by him. It increased the feeling of guilt and remorse, as if that time had been stolen from someone who needed it more and instead was nicely wrapped by some unclean people. A gift given to him as a present he didn´t deserve. Or maybe it was a sign of empathy from a world he had spent much time time trying to impress and please.

But tonight he felt that the big bottle of oxygen on which he leant his back was starting to run empty. The alarms had been ringing for some time but he had imagined they belong to others who were about to drown. He took for granted the bottle would last enough for him to get up first and fight for his own breathe again.

But the infinite tomorrow has become the eternally dry today, the oxygen evaporated through every single pore of his skin.

All that is left in this room is carbon dioxide, that molecule that has turned into a black raging horse that will inevitably catch you on your run to freedom. Death has finally reached him, sent him e-mails, letters and all sorts of messages. It wants to make sure he knows it is here at last.

The air is thicker and darker, every move is tougher to be executed. The pain is no longer merciful with him, but surprisingly he crossed the realm of tolerance. It doesn´t matter anymore.

Blurry hands, the dance of the choked ones, the melody of decadent distortion has come.

And it won´t go away this time.

 

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