I loved night time. It was time when I could forget the sound of my own raspy breathing. I could be free with the butterflies.
I had had asthma my whole life. My parents died in a car crash not long after I was born. I had been found by a tramp who cared for me and helped me through a parent-less childhood. I had always known that I had asthma. Somehow, I just knew. When I had time I got it checked out. I had asthma. Living on the streets of course, I couldn't afford an inhaler. So I carried on with life, having to live with a constant raspy cough and short breath. I found that my asthma attacks were never life threatening to me, unless I panicked.
Now, as I stared up into the trees I rested underneath, I finally slept. At the age of ten, I had walked for hours from the town to a beautiful village called Pirton. I found quite a few bricks here and there and began to collect so that I could build a stable shelter.
Now, at the age of fifteen, I had 200 bricks and a litre of cement. I could build a small shelter. I was sure that I was close to death. I had to be strong after all, I only had fragile butterflies for friends. I stopped my train of thought and was carried away by my butterfly dreams.
YOU ARE READING
butterfly breath
General FictionEvery breath could be her last, she is as fragile as a butterfly. Will she make it through the hard times with only a couple of butterflies for company?
