Just Breathe

Further micro fiction. Not pretty.

Don't ask where this stuff comes from. I don't know.

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Just Breathe


It was a steak knife. Mostly dull. The barest rasp of serration. She held it overhead pointed down as she tried to drive it into his face.

He barely threw his forearm into hers as it descended, before she could gain momentum.

He knew how to fight, she didn’t. She was trying to kill him, but still he felt bad.

“It’s ok,” he said, trying for calm. She grunted, shoved forward. He sidestepped her momentum, trying not to let her fall. She staggered. He reached out. A wet, scream-hiss and she slashed. The pinpoint teeth crossed his forearm, tearing flesh, not cutting. He felt the blade saw against his radius and his stomach lurched.

“STUPID!” he shouted… at himself not her. Then rammed two fingers of his free hand into her throat. She choked and the knife fell away… then the fight itself. She collapsed gasping. He lowered her to the ground, kneeling to hold on.

Her hair was short and spiky, but softer than he’d thought. It pressed under his chin, smelling clean and sharp.

“Breathe…” he said, calmly. “Just breathe.” Slowly her gasps turned to keening anguish. She shook in his arms but that was his own shuddering.

“I know.” he said. “That’s the problem. I love her, too.” She sobbed, but didn’t fight.

“That’s all we can do,” he said, more to himself. “We just love her.

"The rest is up to her.”

He felt tears and blood running over him and knew neither would be enough.