Why Can’t I Breathe

I was awoken from a deep sleep by a simple but burning question in my mind that gained urgency as I cleared the fogginess of sleep. 

Why can’t I breathe?

My eyes opened and darted back and forth as I first became aware of the feeling of liquid all around me. 

My mouth was clamped shut against the liquid that stung my eyes. I realised that my body was weightless and suspended in the liquid. I tried to move but found it surprisingly difficult. Like it was holding me in place. 

“Do not breathe,” a voice said to me. 

I looked around for the source of the voice, but couldn’t make anything out in the murky depths. 

At this point, I started to question how long it had been since I had last filled my lungs with air. Immediately after asking the question, I could feel my body reacting to the absence of oxygen. Carbon dioxide was accumulating in my blood, making me fight the instinctual urge to deeply inhale. 

“Do not breathe,” the voice instructed again. 

I continued to fight the impulse to breathe while looking around for a way out of the liquid. A growing sense of panic boiled inside me. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would no longer be able to voluntarily hold my breath. Then reflex would take over. 

The panic caused me to waste valuable oxygen trying to move my body in the thick liquid. It suddenly occurred to me to look up and down. My oxygen-starved mind remembering that I was suspended. I desperately looked for light or any sign of a surface I could move towards. 

Every direction I looked was the same. Thick, dark green and murky. There was no light. No way out. No salvation. My body felt weak in the compressing liquid. Swimming felt impossible. 

“Don’t breathe,” the voice echoed out. 

I would like nothing more than to obey the commanding voice. But the pressure in my lungs was building. The impulse growing. All I could think about was the desperate urge to breathe. 

“Don’t breathe,” the voice commanded again. 

I had no choice. I couldn’t fight it any more. My lungs forced out their contents. Bubbles formed as my mouth opened. My lungs collapsed, eagerly awaiting the influx of air that wasn’t to come. 

I tried to hold out longer, desperately fighting for one more second. But my body fought back. Impulse took over. My mouth opened again and my lungs expanded. The green liquid came pouring in. 

“I told you not to breathe,” the voice said disappointedly. 

As the liquid filled my lungs my chest exploded in pain. The liquid burned my oesophagus and lungs. Pain shot upwards, filling my head. I screwed my eyes shut. 

“How long did he last?” The voice asked. 

“Four minutes, 23 seconds. Not bad,” another voice answered. 

The pain was starting to dull. I opened my eyes curiously. Surprised to find that I could. My mouth opened and my lungs collapsed again. I could feel the liquid leave my mouth. I inhaled again. This time more carefully. The pain from before had passed. My lungs accepted the liquid greedily. 

“I suppose. Mark him down for the next stage of tests,” the first voice said. 

“Shall I get him out?” The second asked. 

“Not yet. I can’t handle another one asking so many questions,” the first voice replied. 

As I continued to breathe in the liquid the burning question in my mind had been replaced. “Who was I?”