Last Breath

The man had fought his entire life for everything he had, and he hoarded it in his home greedily. Only he knew the maze of the collection of his history. When a fire sprouted from an unfortunately placed - fatefully spilled - glass of water while he was sleeping peacefully, the fire department couldn’t find their way to him. It was here that he drew his last breath.

Her life had been joyous. She was beautiful, successful, married the love of her life, and knew next to no hardships. The one she did know, however, was one of the hardest of them all. Her husband passed before her, and despite her children visiting often, she was still so lonely without him. When she was on her deathbed, her family assured her that they would miss her, but that she would be going to see her husband soon. She smiled, and it was here that she drew her last breath.

Red was his favorite color. He had red walls in his room, red shoes that lit up when he stomped, and a red racecar bed that he pretended to drive after his parents told him it was time for bed. His favorite toy was a red kickball that he and his siblings or friends would play with almost daily. Despite its constant use, it was still holding together well. Then one day, he kicked it into the street. All his friends laughed as they ran to catch up to it. He was just a little bit faster than them, and he caught it first. He heard a few sounds: his friends gasping or screaming. The honk of the horn accompanied by screeching tires. It was here that he drew his last breath.

He was a good boy. When he was a puppy, he often got scolded for going to the bathroom where he wasn’t told, but it wasn’t long after that his owner was tossing around a toy, and they were laughing and barking together. He dined on the most delectable meals, consisting of real meat, good veggies, and the occasional fruit and grain. Yes, his owner spoiled him immensely. He grew old, though, and eventually, his bones ached. Chasing toys was hard. Keeping up with his owner on their daily jogs was hard. His teeth began to fall out, and his food, though still tasty, was getting mushier than he was used to. One day, his owner was more affectionate than most days. He was getting junk food - that he could eat, of course. He was constantly in contact with his owner in some capacity - sitting in his lap, his hand on his head, side by side. Their day ended with him resting on the floor of the vet. He knew the place well. He trusted it more than most did. There was a sharp prick in his hip, but he paid it no mind as his owner reassured him. He stared up into his owner’s tearful eyes, and then closed his own. It was here he drew his last breath.

She was a troublemaker all her life. She and her mother fought often, she was detained by the police for the first time when she was eleven, and fully arrested for the first time when she was sixteen. Her mother bailed her out, and shortly after, kicked her out. She finished out her school days living with her second cousin, who was twenty-two when she first moved in. As soon as she was done with school and able, she went into the military, into the army. She’d found her place. She began to reform herself, feeling proud of herself for the first time. She even patched things up with her mother, and they began talking on the phone regularly. Then she was sent to war. And she panicked. Her first mission out, she and a small group of ten were moving through a small abandoned village in the upper portion of North Korea, when they were attacked. They didn’t even have time to fight back. It was here she drew her last breath.

They spent their teen years confused. Always referred to a he, him, a boy, young man, even though deep within themselves, they felt it wasn’t who they were. They tried to tell someone - their closest friend sophomore year of high school. He called them a freak, told them they were idiotic, to take another year of biology and figure their shit out. Then he spread the information. Soon, the entire school was bearing down on them, calling them slurs, asking them what they had in their pants, even beating them until they screamed they were a boy, a boy! After months of torment, the worst possible thing happened: their principal called their parents. They were ready to tell their parents. They already knew how their parents would feel about it. But the principal spilled their darkest secret, and through the concern on their parents’ face, they could see the disgust in their father’s tightened jaw, their mother’s sad, disappointed eyes. When they all got home, their father beat them. He’d been verbally abusive, and had raised a hand to them before, but never physically harmed them. Tonight, he vowed to beat them into shape. By the end of that night, they would be a boy. Finally, he agreed. He told his father over and over again that he was a boy, that he was sorry. After a few reassuring blows, his father finally left. He was lying there in a pool of sweat, tears, and blood. Then, he reached beneath his pillow, and pulled a knife from underneath. He closed his eyes, dry after having cried for hours that day. He took a deep breath, and drug the knife through his skin. He watched his true colors bleed from his skin. It was here, they drew their last breath.Her life was unremarkable. She graduated high school in the middle of her class, got an associates degree in general studies, and coasted by, occasionally getting caught out by the odd utility bill or a car problem. But for the most part, it never bothered her. She was content, alone and in silence. When she was in her sixties, she became unable to move around much, and soon checked herself into an assisted living facility. She only ever saw someone when she needed help, but she grew used to the people there. On the night of her death, her favorite aid held her hand, and for the last moment of her life, she wasn’t alone. It was here that she drew her last breath.

He was a tyrant. He was raised by a father who was the ruler of a country, forth in the line of rulers there, and much like those before him, he had an iron fist. He owned slaves, turned away hungry children, and had both that spoke out of turn beaten in the center of the town to teach all to kiss his boots. Occasionally, just for fun, he would ride out with his brigade, and haze a nearby village to the ground, pillaging along the way. On one fateful day, he chose the wrong village. He had grown cocky, and began to ride at the front of his brigade so as to be the first face the people all saw before their demise. But as he passed the first two cottages, a volley of arrows, fired by several untrained peasants, rained down on him, knocking him from his horse. They missed killing him one blow, but everyone knew he was going to die shortly. He reached toward his men, gasping in pain for each breath. But they simply watched him, no longer interested in razing the village. He cursed them in his head. It was here that he took his last breath.

They had been best friends since they were four years old. They were only born two months apart, and were soulmates from the moment they locked eyes. The two girls spent every moment they possibly could together, and they shared everything. They got sick together, celebrated their birthdays together, shared their first kiss together, and came out to their parents together. After high school, they attended the same college, graduated at the same time, and moved to a cozy cul-de-sac in Maine. The eldest got a job as a journalist at their town’s news outlet, and the youngest opened her own bar, quickly gaining popularity with the college crowd. Not long after, they married, and the eldest of the two went through the IVF process. Nine months later, the two were proud mothers of a baby boy. He grew fast, and became a star athlete in his high school baseball team, allowing him a full ride scholarship to a leading college in New York. It was just the two of them again, and they spent their days traveling, visiting family sometimes, but mostly seeing the world for themselves. When they felt tired, the two settled back down in Maine again, waking up, having breakfast, lunch, dinner, and reading together by the fireplace each and every day. One night, the two went through their routine. The eldest told the other she was ready for bed, and the younger followed behind. They shared a kiss, closed their eyes, and began to fall asleep. It was here that they took their last breath.

Each day, be it natural, fateful, heartbreaking, someone takes their last breath. We are not so different in that factor, and yet we still choose to define someone by the summary of their lives we see. Perhaps instead, we should consider opening ourselves up to kindness, and casting away discrimination. Because no matter what we do, we will all draw our last breaths.