I Didn’t Want To Be Famous

Image by Natasa Pavic from Pixabay

I was having a heart attack. No doubt about it. The pumping organ in my chest knocked painfully against my sternum, so loud I was sure the entire city block could hear it. I couldn’t catch my breath. Clammy hands, vision graying at the edges, tongue swelling with every thump-thump.

Two people ahead of me.

Then one.

Then an empty space.

I tried to inhale, but my tightened throat rebuked the effort. I would not pass out. I would not. I didn’t want to end up in the hospital or on the hellscape that was the internet. My sister would never let me live it down.

A shadow appeared in the corner of my eye, but it was only a hand waving me forward. I blew air through pursed lips and did as I was silently instructed.

The first words out of this god-made-human’s beautiful mouth had the audacity to be, “There she is!”

And there came the ground to have a silent sidebar with the depths of my subconscious.


Definitely never living this down.

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