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Chelsea Berghoefer has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. She enjoys the challenge of taking things that she feels and observes and communicating them in ways that resonate with others. She currently lives between California and South Korea.
I never knew I could hold my breath for so long. But every time I heard the door open, every time the footsteps came towards me, time felt slower. The footsteps took longer to hit the floor, and my breath took twice as much time to go in and out of my lungs.
I didn't want to know how long I could go without breathing, and I had to be getting close to my limit.
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So I waited until the stars were out, and I could hear snoring, and I left. I wished I had a bag to pack, but there was nothing for me to bring. I barely owned my own skin. The outside air, it smelled like freedom and my breath came easier, for a moment.
Then I learned--it turns out there's lot of things in the world just like those footsteps. It turns out there's lots of things that make you hold your breath.
But at least I got to choose where I took my last.
The End
This story was first published on Thursday, September 6th, 2018
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