This is the blog of Samie Sands, author of Lockdown. There will be many great books and projects reviewed here. For more, check out thelockdown.co.uk.

Tuesday, 22 August 2017

Myopia from 13 Deja Vu

Here is a sample of my story, Myopia, featured in 13 Deja Vu:
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All of a sudden my lungs are squeezed tight, and no matter how hard I suck back all the stale air in the room, there isn't enough in the world to fill them up.  
I drop my towel to the floor and clap my hand across my chest, clawing at my skin as if I'm trying to stretch it to make some room. There's a pressure, crumbling in on me, like dirt falling on my face, stuffing my mouth. I can't take it anymore. I can sense the walls closing in on me, knocking me to the floor, making my knees hit with a hard thump. The pain radiates through my legs, working up to my hips and my hands. My mouth is full, the hot blood trickling out of my ears, my heart is milliseconds away from exploding in my chest, killing me. 
I'm gasping, it's agony, I don't think this horror is ever going to end, I want to die, if it ends this then I need to die. 
Then for some reason that tight sensation simply evaporates. Although I don't know what causes the change in me, it happens slowly and painlessly. The dizziness goes, everything loosens, the stiffness vanishes, and my limbs wobble and fall, leaving me a pathetic heap on the bathroom floor. 
I can't move. I don't know if it's lack of energy, or if it's too much effort after that…attack, I suppose. I simply lie there, damp and breathless. I don't even know what happened to me, never mind what to do next. Was that just panic? Can it have such a physical effect on my body?  
Knock, knock. 
I jump up quickly, pushing all of that away for one moment, an intense need pulsating through me instead. Is that Mom? She usually lets herself in. Surely that doesn't mean it isn't her, right? Maybe something's happened, maybe she's sick and scared. 
I grab a robe and throw it on, not even caring if I find Mom ill. Even if this stupid virus is contagious, I'd much rather have Mom here by my side. I can cope with being sick as long as I'm not alone. 
"Mom?" Elation fills me as I power down the stairs as quickly as I can manage. "Mom, is that you?" 
Although no one answers, that doesn't do anything to dull my hope. I've needed this for so long, it feels like I've been waiting forever. As I swing the door open and a blast of cool air races past my skin, everything deflates. When someone's there, I can sense them, I can feel their aura, smell their scent, hear them breathing. This is an empty nothingness, and I've never felt horrific about that. 
"Damn it." I slam out the outside world once more, and an unexpected, horrible rotting smell bulldozes up my nostrils, taking me aback for a second.  
I lean my head against the wood for a moment, wondering if I should open it up once more to check what that was, but I don't know if I want to. I don't want the neighbors to spot me with so much skin on show, knowing they can look me up and down when I can't see them at all. I don't want to draw attention to the fact I'm home alone, that I'm scared without Mom. I guess I'd rather wait inside until my next move becomes clear.  
Soon something's going to happen, something that forces me to make a decision, so maybe I'd be better off preparing myself for that. 
Knock, knock. 

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