Consistently, I try to breathe. I search for the air and the littlest taste of it that could keep me alive. But, it should be natural I think, shouldn't it? I shouldn't be lying down here gasping for breath, rather I should be sitting there, on that chair, right on that armchair where my nana died two days ago.
I was on the verge of a cry, anything that could keep me sane for a moment, so that I keep myself alive for the next brighter day. That's what we say to ourselves, don't we, that the next day is going to be a brighter one(if we live to see it), that the pain will be a little less, that the scars will be faded a little, that the love you feel won't hurt much.
Two, three, four, with these numbered breaths I think I can survive. Counting, was never my cup of tea. I remember when I was little, and wanted to learn to fly, when suddenly nana grabbed me by my arm and asked me start counting, one, two, three,.. twenty-four, I think I never really could hold myself till twenty-six. I don't remember what happened after that.
Twelve, thirteen, thirteen long breaths later I started thinking what if I can skip the numbers in between and go directly to twenty. That way it'll be easier, I will go to sleep and then will wake up later, in my Nana's lap, with her singing my favourite melody.
I think not. I start counting again. And try to get up. I walk towards the closet and push the door behind. I could smell the air now, the bad smell and the worse. I start the count again by counting the stairs. There are 14 stairs in all which takes me to the room below. It will take fewer steps now to get me back to my nana.
Life holds a gift for me in the room below, I just need to walk towards it. The air I'm looking for starts filling in my lungs. Eighteen, nineteen, and with the twentieth step I was closer to my Nana. The smell was awful, it smells lesser and lesser like my Nana now. With the twenty-third step I was on my knees lying beside her. Twenty-four, twenty-five, and I slept in my Nana's lap.