M is for Melody (Old)

Chapter 1: I Fail To Breathe And Recall A Few Things

This was the first time I ever hated my lungs. I know I sometimes get this strange shortage of breath from out of nowhere -resulting in my giving up on bike rides to my school- but honestly, collapsing? At the peak of my youth, and yet born to die young. And no matter what my mother or the counselors that work for her say, I will never shake the feeling that these times of physical limitations are due to the strange happenings that surround me.

I am strictly instinctual. I know what I'm talking about, even though the fantasies are probably due to my childish yearning for wonder filled worlds hidden beneath the Earth's crust, waiting for me to discover that they're real. Long ago I pledged to embrace every weird occurance as a sign of my specialness (if that even is a word but hey, I was nine with a developing sense of uniqueness). Ah, "ness" is my favorite suffix. Thank you Ms. Ness (I kid not, that was her name). My first grade teacher's memory almost starts a bout of emotion, but since youth obscured a lasting attachment to the retired woman I free myself from nostalgia and focus on my situation as of late.

Finally, an interesting thing, no matter how mundane it is compared to my desires for other things not of this world. I struggle not to faint, attempting to suck in as much breath as possible without stretching my unnaturally shrunk bronchi. One little track tryout. Ridiculous. Usually I'm able to run for at least a minute without stopping. For a moment I'm reminded of my child self, without the limitations I face now and running around a playground after the friends that I managed to lose through time. As I chase the image from my faltering vision, I attempt to secure control over my breathing and body. I wiggle all fingers and toes, easy. The invisible hands that clasp my organs are unrelenting, unfortunately.

I hear voices of fellow runners, breathless from their laps around the worn and cracked track, also known as the sidewalk along our school. Someone pats my cheek, streaked with a shallow scrape and an access tear from my watery eyes. "Are you okay, are you okay," relays in my mind, and whether it's real or imagined is undetermined. Ha, someone's playing health class suck-up today, I think.

I'm rolled over to face the sky, pavement digging into my back and making it itch the way it sometimes does, an under-the-skin irritation that no scratching can expel. Instantly I am self-conscious of my legs and haphazardly lain body, not quite comfortable in my own skin. Curse these gym shorts and my dumb appendages. My usual leggings underneath is yearned for as people stare down at me. A girl's long hair tickles my brow, another annoying distraction for my shortage of oxygen.

"It's Melody, Ms. Kimber," someone says. The mention of my favorite art teacher brings me back to my sight, and at once I recognize her wild red hair and Irish facial features. I want to smile, but ugh muscles and movement. Welcoming black surrounds my vision, but I don't dare sink into it. Fainting is not fun. I have experiences on record.

"I can see that, Haley. Thank you," she answers, in that sarcastic tone she uses when concerned or bothered. Never mind that I observe my teacher's every movement. I am justified by my needing to ensure that she's human and not some changeling come to take me to the fae realm. People can be so weirded out at times. That's why I resolved never to breathe a word about my secret fantasies to my... um, friends, because I know well enough that they've come to hate the painless and goofy part of me I dare not show them. The only thing I feel comfortable being..

Ms. Kimber brushes aside her hanging hair, and it instantly falls back in place. After doing this several times, she simply pulls it up at the nape of her neck in a bunch and holds it there with one hand. With the other, she nabs my wrist, kneeling down to prevent strain on her upper back. Another thing I've noticed about her: she resists bending down and massages her shoulder blades every once and awhile. The best guess I have is she has a metal plate in her spine for one predicament or another that causes unwanted tenseness in her back she doesn't like to feel or show. That theory is better than anything my overactive mind could cook up, true or otherwise. My fairy watch is not over yet.