Bubbles

He could not breathe. It was not that he could not physically breathe, but that he did not want to. He did not want to die, but at this point it seemed almost inevitable. Breathing would actually make the scenario worse, so it was wise for him to not breathe. He could see "The Light" but it has always been there to him. In situations before this one, the light has always been brighter and clearer, but this time it seemed to fade. Curious. Vision was blurring most likely due to the lack of a good oxygen flow. Desperate times usually call for desperate measures, right? For some reason, right now, that did not seem like the best answer. The best answer was to be calm and slowly figure out the situation he got himself into. The further he went along, the less he could think. The further he went along, the more he could feel. It was an odd, yet familiar sensation. That of wrinkling, but not the kind from being old. Unless he had grown old trying to think his way out of death.... "Impossible" He thought, because he realized what it was. He deserved to be in his particular situation because it was not the first time. In fact, every time it is hot outside, he has the odd sensation to do this to himself repeatedly. It is an escape. He recalls what he is escaping, but realizes that it is not worth death, as he does every time. He gently lets go and comes back to fruition, letting the wonderful oxygen fill his lungs. It feels amazing to breathe once again, but not to have the heat back on him.