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AT FIRST, SHE was suffocating.
Juliet couldn't breathe. There was a pressure in her chest and a heaviness on her body that made her ribs feel as if they would snap with one sharp twist—not that she could move if she tried. She clawed at the solid mass above her, nails breaking in desperation as her lips opened and closed softly, small and shallow breaths passing her chapped skin.
There was a stifling staleness to the air, a bitterness that made her throat tighten as saliva welled up in her mouth. Juliet has to hold back the urge to puke. Her breathing was already fragile enough as it was. But taking slow, heavy breaths was no longer an option—there was barely enough oxygen where she lay to supply herself for the next few minutes. A sour, acrid scent wafted towards her and Juliet only had a brief moment to quickly turn her head to the side before she heaved up any last remnants of her stomach out into the cramped space.
A whimper left her throat at the stickiness on the left side of her face—slightly warm and causing her toes to curl. Her eyes burned at the putrid smell and Juliet closed her eyes, murmuring quiet prayers under her breath for possibly the last time. Her mind drifted to memories of what could have been and she began to wonder—where did it all go wrong?
The air was getting lighter, and her vision blurred. Even when she closed her eyes, she could feel her head spinning. An ache formed between her brows as she squeezed her eyelids closed.
"Please," she muttered, eyes stinging as she held back tears. "Please, I don't want to die like this."
Juliet lifted her head to the seams between the wooden lid above her, her breaths becoming even more shallow now. Strands of her dark hair clung to the oily skin of her cheek and the nape of her neck, sticky from sweat. Her skin was slightly damp, and the clothes she wore were ripped and torn. ( She knew that from feeling the flecks of dirt on her bare stomach that had fallen through the cracks of the box ).
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing on the broken skin until a metallic tinge burst across her tongue. Her throat closed up as she held back a guttural sob, and her hand moved up to her chest, pressing gently against her ribs. With each breath she took, her lungs constricted, letting less oxygen in and less carbon dioxide out—like a boa constrictor had wound its way around her torso and, with each rise and fall, it squeezed her ribs tighter and tight until her body was surrounded by a suffocating cage of iron.
Juliet pressed her lips against the seams of the box, taking in one last gulp of air, before resting her head back against the warm surface.
The need for oxygen soon became desperate, and her limbs kicked and scratched at the box, but to no avail. It only seemed to make her lungs' burning worsen as her body convulsed. She wheezed, her chest falling heavily but never rising to the same point. White spots danced across her vision.
It wasn't long before she lost consciousness, Death kissing her once more before she fell into his arms.
Juliet Chase was dead.
Again.
Juliet awoke with a start, heaving and wheezing as life reanimated her body.
Tears stung at her eyes and she blinked rapidly, 'though it did little to improve her sight in the darkness. Her breathing eventually steadied, but remained just as shallow as it had been before she died. It needed to, otherwise she'd risk dying again and again the same way until it was just an endless cycle, only at a more accelerated pace.
The only way to break the cycle, was to break the box.
And so, after two more deaths due to hypoxia, Juliet eventually managed to move the lid off her wooden cage.
Taking one last breath, Juliet closed her eyes and shoved the lid as far to the right as she could. She dug her way through the dirt of the shallow grave, nails breaking and the skin on her palms splitting against the sharp points of rocks and stones. Mud covered her damp skin and caked her face, so that even if she were to take another breath, she'd be inhaling the solid mass instead.
She broke through the surface with cries slipping from her lips, heaving and sobbing as she pushed herself out of the dishevelled grave. Her fingers grasped the dewy shoots of grass and her knees became wet from kneeling in the mud, but she didn't care.
She could finally breathe.
Juliet attempted to stand, her knees weak, and collapsed against the trunk of an old oak tree, her cheek scraping against the rough bark. Blood coated her fingertips as she lifted a hand to her face, the wetness caking beneath her nails. Wiping the red liquid on the remnants of her jeans, Juliet looked to the sky.
It was a symphony of colour. She laughed weakly, lifting her arms into the air as she staggered backwards, spinning in a short circle. The sweet summer air kissed her cheeks, the setting sky swirling from blue, to deep orange and pink and gold—all blurring together until it was just a crescendo of warm colours. As she closed her eyes, Juliet could appreciate the comfort of the light, it's delicate touch and careful warmth, and yet, it had the potential to burn it all down again.
It was powerful, just like her, except, the sun died every night to let the moon breathe, yet Juliet didn't have a choice. She would rather have let the moon live forever, curse herself to eternal darkness—though fate had other plans for her.
She was cursed with eternal life, and that was infinitely more painful.
