Breathe. I used to think that this word merely meant to bring in and release. To just inhale and exhale. I thought it was only meant to be an act that was essential to life. But I was wrong. I’ve never been so wrong in my entire life. That single word could change someone’s fate in under a second. It doesn’t mean to just let in and out. This action could either destroy you’re life or save it. I know it sounds odd. How could breathing make a person perish? Simple. Breathe can betray you whenever it wants. I know it seems odd to mention a personification in this form. But breathing can bring new life as well. Someone so close to knocking at the doors of death could instantly escape just by breathing. I know these groups of contradictions sound unreal, and insane. Why am I even speaking of these things in the first place? Well, everyone has a story to tell each soul has there story radiating like the sun around them, but most people can’t achieve that. I use to think the meaning of the word revival meant to revive, or bring life to. To make new life or power up a dead soul. But now that I think about it, it means more than that. Like the word hope, it also means to restore faith. For example, if a person is so close to death but suddenly they revive by either a change of physical and mental power, or a change in there life. Another example is when a person is so depressed that they refuse to go on. But then they are brought back to life by either finding new interests or find something worth continuing to live there life. This word is similar to breathing because if you don’t make a decision, you surely will perish. I know this isn’t much of a story, but everyone has a story so other people can feel it. I just hope you can feel mine.

It all began with one girl, one bike, and one storm.

I was running down the steps of my house, my sketchbook and pencils in hand. I wanted to go down to the beach to sketch out a panoramic of the sunset and the sea. My mom was at the library shelving books, and my dad was at the hospital as usual helping patients because he was a nurse. They usual didn’t mind when I went off on my own when they weren’t there. They trusted me enough to go and come back safely, with no trouble. I texted my mom “Going to the beach to draw, I’ll be back.” As soon as I sent it, I got a text back from my mother saying “Alright Wren. Be safe.” I put my sketchbook, pencils, and my phone into my satchel. I went outside an grabbed my back. I hopped down and sped along the cliff side road. The sky looked extremely stormy. Usually it always looked like this where I lived. But not like this. It looked just to dense. As if it was going to scoop up every single grain of sand. Sucking up anything in it’s way. I started to worry. Everything was starting to be knocked over into the sea. I felt like an extremely strong storm was going to come. Before I could finish my thoughts, the wind pushed my bike against a nearby boulder. I finally realized what was happening. Hurricane. I was starting to feel my shoulders drooping. My leg felt like it got penetrated by a thousand needles. My head hurt so much that even if I moved just a little bit felt like I was going to break my whole skull in half. Everything started to go black. My mind was raising as I strained myself to get back up again. But I was to late. I had plunged into the pit  of darkness in my head.

“Wren… Oh my goodness, doctor is there anything serious?” I recognized that voice as my fathers. I heard the words sever concussion and broken ankle. My breathing was starting to become labored and unsteady. “Breathe Wren. Breathe.” Just hearing those words made me feel relief in my chest. Weeks later I was on crutches and my head was still throbbing hear and there. But I survived a hurricane. I thought. Just because of one word. When I was knocked down, I was able to stay alert and awake for about an hour or two. I had called my parents, telling them what happened before I blacked out. I was breathing heavily the whole entire time.I found out my mom died in the storm trying to save a women stuck in a ditch.

“Wren you must come out, we will be late to your mother’s fu-ceremony.” My best friends whispered into the doors aged wood cracks. Just the sound of the word mother made me want to hide in a cloak of darkness. I knew he was about to say the word funeral, but she replaced it with a more suitable word for my situation. “Wren please, your mother would want to see you one last time.” I sat on my bed for a few seconds deep in thought. I got up to open the door, my black dress wrinkled and stained with tears. My dark chocolate colored hair tumbling down my drooping shoulders. I looked at the mirror on the wall. My piercing dark mahogany eyes looked almost black. My olive skin looked as pale as a sheet of paper. I opened the door my best friend Peter stood there. His messy dark hair some what tamed. He was wearing a suit instead of his usual uniform of jeans and a graphic t-shirt. He looked almost like a stranger, but his striking eyes were the same.We walked out the door heading toward the meadow nearby. My mother lived in the same house ever since she was born. The meadow was like her sanctuary, before she died.

While I was walking, I realized that things like this happened. My mom had gone to a place where she didn’t have to experience suffering anymore. She will still be able to withstand a storm, when the wind rises, and the sky falls. For years I lived waiting. Waiting for when the storm will break.