Flash Fiction: Don’t Breathe

The bedroom in the cabin was darker than any place she’d ever slept. It was moonless, with no electric light nearby — total blackness that made her eyes felt closed when they were open. The forest around them was deathly silent, although she imagined animals breathing. It had been two hours now, waiting for sleep.

“Slow down,” she said.

“What?”

“You’re breathing too fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“You breathe too fast and it throws off the rhythm of my breath. I can’t sleep.”

She felt him push the pillow at the side of her face, covering her lips and nose.

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