Death by Butterscotch

I walked into psychology class past only a handful of other students, plenty early, and sat dead center in the front row at my usual perch. Withdrawing my laptop and a notecard from my bag, I realized I still had some butterscotch hard candies leftover and decided to grab one so as to occupy my mouth. Unwrapping it and popping it between my teeth, I went about my business and unknowingly inhaled strongly.
The candy launched back and lodged itself in my throat. I sputtered and gasped, acutely aware of what had happened and panicking thoroughly. My heart hammered, stuttering in my chest and my body grew warm as adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. So fast.
I swallowed, alarmed, and found it was very difficult to do so. The candy remained in place.
I sat there, clutching the edge of the desk harder than meaning to, wondering if this was the end. If today was the day my clock ran out. What would my classmates think if I suddenly quit breathing and slumped over on top of my computer? How long would it take for anyone to realize what was going on?
Forcibly I had to calm my pinging nerves and tell myself to breathe, that my windpipe was clear and I could still breathe. I snatched my canteen from the ground and attempted to gulp down some water to move the candy along, but the clog was too great. All the liquid came back up through my nose, having no other exit.
I coughed and gagged numerous times while trying to control myself, my breathing, and my swirling thoughts. Did anyone in the room know the heimleich maneuver? Would they even try to help if I made it known I was in desperate need of it?
Desperately, I swallowed hard several times in rapid succession, resolute on getting the stupid piece of sugar down. It seemed to help, if only a minuscule amount.
Dissolve faster, I thought. Dissolve, dissolve, dissolve.
Gradually it lowered and lowered until I could feel it beside my spine like a swallowed wad of gum. It felt as though, if I dug hard enough, I could pull it out right from under my skin. Pain radiated in soft waves from it, but I was just relieved it had left my throat and proceeded to my esophagus.
The panic slowly left me and the alarm bells going off in my head died away. I heaved a sigh and prepared myself for today's lecture just as my professor walked in. She greeted everyone and asked how we were. I replied, "Good" and it was only after I'd said it that I agreed it was true.
I was glad that dumb piece of butterscotch hadn't been the death of me.

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True story. This was the highlight (and by that I mean something I wish to never experience again) of my afternoon. I literally thought today was the day I was meant to die.
Didn't happen, though, so I guess its not quite my time yet.
Moral of the story? Don't swallow an entire piece of butterscotch hard candy unless you desire to be scared out of your wits.

Until next time,

V

Burning Truth

Her legs wouldn't support her and her breath wouldn't fill her. There was far too much ringing silence in her mind to allow thought. Her body ached and stomach convulsed until she ceased to feel anything at all. The dark wall she stared at became fuzzy and out of focus, turning darker still as chaos roared through her head, consuming everything in raging fire and leaving nothing but smoldering ash in its wake.

Everything she ever cared about was gone.

And he had taken her heart with him.

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Thoughts. Think what you want of them.

-Vicki

The Stuff of Night Terrors

Bleed Out My Decay

I didn't know where I was; all I knew was that it wasn't anywhere safe, it was nowhere I wanted to be. Panic choked me, leaving me helpless, as quiet tears streamed down my battered cheeks. I had an impending sense that any second I was going to die.

A scream left me when I looked down at my hands. Blood began to gush from my nail-beds, dying them crimson. It felt like someone had lit the tips of my fingers on fire, burning like some kind of macabre candles.

I couldn't stand and I couldn't speak. I could only scream and whimper.

Blood flowed faster than I thought possible, coating my palms with sticky red and making my cries louder. My skin started cracking like scorched, parched earth and more blood spilled from my pores. I couldn't stop staring as my body slowly died.

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Forsaken and Falling

I call out, screaming into the darkness. I stretch my arms forward, grasping nothingness, but wishing for a familiar presence. I know nobody is there, not close, not anywhere; I can sense the vacancy, but my hope runs away with me, and I shout louder, wanting to pierce the never-ending quiet and blackness, to not feel so alone.

I lose my balance and slowly I begin to fall backward, as if the ground just crumbled away beneath my bare feet. There's no stopping this. Bending back, I take a deep breath before the free fall begins.

I don't know where I'm going, racing headfirst through the pitch blackness like a stray bullet, unable to see the bottom of the canyon. Is this where I die? Where I've finally reached my limit and can take no more? What a pitiful death; to lie crumpled at the bottom of a ravine with no one to ever find you, to ever bring you back home. The casket will be closed and empty while my family weeps and my friends wonder.

I clasp my arms tightly about me, wishing one last time for a comforting embrace. Why couldn't my ending be happy? Somehow I knew it never would be. The realization turned my heart into a stone. I always told myself if I was loyal enough, if I loved enough, I'd get my fairy tale life and the career I continuously strove for.

That's why I can't help but write sad endings, I think as I close my eyes against silent tears, the air that rushed about me whipping them away.

Solid ground quickly came up to meet me.


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I was half asleep when I wrote these. I'm sure it's easy to tell. Anywho, these are the kinds of things I've been dreaming the past few nights. Perhaps that's why I've felt so gosh darn tired lately.