The Fig Tree

Close call

I stopped breathing for a minute and twenty-three seconds yesterday.
Held my breath in, actually. Factually.
I was zoning out again when it happened, the thought just came out of nowhere. One moment, I was thinking about everything and the next... I was hoping for nothing at the end.
I had looked down again back then. Back at the dirt of the flower vase I got on March 13th, it was easier.

A deep intake of breath. One second.
It must be red dirt.

Two seconds.

Green petals are in my face.

Three seconds.

See, back at the school arena, that dirt was very brown.

Four seconds.

I used to focus on it alot instead of the grades and the nerds and the Konkur.

Ten seconds.

This dirt is definitely darker.
An undertone of color too.

Fourteen seconds. A blink.

Is there orange dirt?
I hate the color orange. I faintly remember my nursery theme being orange.

Twenty.

A rabbit-shaped blanket with a half-chewed orange carrot hanging from its mouth.

Twenty-five.

I remember vomiting on it once.

Thirty-two.

The dirt, it looks like vomited half-chewed stomached carrots.
Fucking dirt.

Forty seconds.

It's funny how many different types of dirt there are. 

Forty-three seconds.

Would you say gravel/dirt is different from regular dirt? 

Forty-seven seconds. Another blink.

Gravel is just rocks and rocks are in dirt.

Fifty seconds.

But gravel and dirt are very different things. 

Fifty-four.

Does red dirt make red mud?

Fifty-eight.

Wait- do we have peach black dirt? Or are my eyes seeing black?
A minute.
My eyes have always been brown.

One minute and three seconds.

Someone once told me they're beautiful.

One minute and six seconds.

I think she was just trying to get on my good side.

One minute and ten seconds.

Has this pain in my chest always been here?

One minute and thirteen seconds.

The green petals are turning black. I should've watered them more.

One minute and fifteen seconds.

I disappointed everyone. Even a fucking flower.

One minute and seventeen seconds.

The air thickened around as though the night itself leaned close to listen.
Pulses filled my ears -steady, desperate. Always so fucking desperate and never desperate enough.

One minute and twenty seconds.

The suffocating bloom of stillness. Guess time forgot me too.

One minute and twenty-three seconds.

A gasp.