When Breath Becomes Air Novels & Stories

A Berserker breath. I pulled the air deep, expanding my ribs until the cartilage groaned. I compressed the oxygen in my lungs. I didn't let it out. I held the pressure. I forced the air into my blood, feeding the metabolic fire. My heart rate dropped—not calm, but coiled. A compressed spring waiting to snap.

Kenna says excitedly. “Okay, now, when you take that breath into your stomach, you have to blow it out through the two openings in the back of your throat. Don’t push it out of your mouth, that will just make a humming sound. It has to go through those two openings. That’s what they are for.” We practice for the rest of the evening, helping her find her calling in her human form. Afterward, I have her curl up in front of the fire on a sleeping bag I brought for her.

Ivy’s POV When the first rush of air fills my lungs, it feels like a lifeline tearing me away from some cold, terrible place. There’s a strange urgency to the feeling–that first breath is almost gentle, a soft gust of wind, the tender brush of a familiar hand against a flushed cheek. But the next breath that comes is a desperate, coughing, almost choking thing as my lungs do their best to remember how to take in air. The breath after that is even more ragged, and I can feel my chest heaving over and over again as I go through the motions of taking in air and expelling it even more rapidly.

Try to hold it for a minute" Emily proceeded immediately to hold her breath. " Wait, stop. You do not start immediately. You have to inhale deeply and exhale. Then you take enough air into your lungs and hold it in. Try it " Emily took a deep breath and let it out. Then she took another deep breath and held it in. Andra started a countdown to sixty. She had gotten to forty five when Emily let out the air she had been holding in saying she couldn't hold it any more. She began breathing heavily but Andra stopped her.

I know what this means the end is near. “Breathe in,” he murmurs, low, intimate. I obey. The air fills only the top of my lungs. He holds me there, and I want to panic, but I don’t. “And out.” As I exhale, his weight presses me down, coaxes the breath from my chest, leaving me hollow, empty.

he bellows, his voice echoing ominously above the surface of the water. He hoists me up, breaking the surface and allowing me to gulp in precious air. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the crisp, refreshing oxygen, and with each breath, I slowly reclaim my composure, feeling the familiar strength surge back within me. "I'm not like most men." I choke out, the cool water cascading around me, soaking my top, leaving a lasting chill across my skin.

My dry throat knocks me to my knees as it keeps choking me. "I know this," I think, one of my hands wrapping around my throat. "I know this! It what's happens when a person breathes in the poison air!" Moving fast, I stop breathing and instead hold my breath. Taking the backpack and throwing it on the ground in front of me, I open it. "Come on. Come on! Come on!" Finding my gas mask, I immediately put it on, and take in many breaths of clean air. Finally feeling better, my throat no longer sandy dry, I push myself up and look around.

Slowly, deliberately, I inhaled and exhaled, hoping he would mimic me. At first, there was no response. His gaze remained distant, and his chest rose and fell erratically. But I didn’t stop. “You’re doing great,” I encouraged, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Just keep trying.” Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, his breathing began to shift. The quick, shallow gasps slowed, becoming more measured as he started to match my rhythm. I continued to guide him, keeping my tone soft and consistent. “In through your nose,” I repeated gently, drawing in a long breath. “Out through your mouth.”

“No grunting. No flaring. Good air entry.” His lungs expanded evenly. No distress. No retractions at the base of his ribs. Just small, determined breaths that sounded like quiet sighs. His nostrils barely moved. His mouth opened once in a tiny, offended oval, then closed again as if he had decided the world could wait until he understood it.

To try to exist again. I breathe. I finally breathe. ---