— The Hollow Breath
The rain fell harder that night.
It whispered against the window of the hospital room, crawling down the glass in broken trails, like the tears he hadn't yet cried.
The air smelled of antiseptic and old metal — heavy, cold, and unkind.
Every sound seemed distant.
Every breath he took echoed like it didn't belong to him.
Naoki's trembling hand hovered above the cord of the life-support machine.
His mother's chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm.
Each breath that left her seemed smaller, weaker — like her body was slowly forgetting how to live.
The steady hum of the monitor filled the silence between his thoughts, constant and cruel.
He stared at the cord for what felt like forever.
His fingers twitched.
"Mom…" he whispered, his voice hollow.
He didn't know what he wanted to say.
He didn't even know what he felt anymore — guilt, love, exhaustion — it all bled together, just noise and pain.
He could still remember her laugh.
How she used to sing while washing the dishes.
How she would scold him when he stayed up late playing games.
How she said she'd always be there for him — and now she was here, but not really here.
Just a shell.
Just an echo.
He swallowed hard, the taste of metal filling his mouth.
"Maybe if I was stronger…" he said softly. "Maybe if I had done more."
The rain answered with a low rumble of thunder.
Naoki stared at his hand, still hovering above the plug. His fingertips trembled. His body felt like it was screaming at him not to move, but his mind whispered end it… end it now before she suffers again.
His eyes burned.
He blinked — and tears fell.
For a moment, his vision blurred, and he thought he saw her smile again — not the pale, lifeless face before him, but the version he remembered. The warm smile that reached her eyes. The kind of smile that made the world stop hurting for a second.
"Mom…"
His voice broke.
"I'm sorry."
He reached forward.
And the moment his fingers brushed the plug, something inside him shifted.
It wasn't a voice.
It wasn't even a thought.
It was a pull.
A faint pressure at his wrist, like invisible strings tugging gently — not to stop him, not to guide him, but to remind him of something… something deep within his bones.
His breathing grew uneven. His pulse thudded in his ears, matching the rhythm of the rain.
His chest felt heavy, almost suffocating.
He hesitated, frozen mid-motion, unsure if what he felt was fear or fate.
Then he pulled.
The plug came free with a dull click.
The hum of the machine faltered.
The green line began to flatten.
And the silence that followed felt like the world itself had stopped breathing.
At first, nothing happened.
Then her chest began to move — slow, desperate gasps that sounded more like drowning than breathing.
Her fingers twitched, scraping weakly against the bedsheet.
Her eyelids fluttered, and for an impossible moment, Naoki thought she was waking up.
"Mom?"
He stumbled forward, panic rising.
"Mom—please—!"
Her breathing grew faster, harsher, then began to fail. The convulsions came in quiet waves — her throat releasing a sound between a cough and a sigh. The room filled with the faint static of the heart monitor, a harsh reminder of what he had done.
He reached for the plug again, his hands shaking.
"I—I can fix it—please, just—just breathe—"
But his hands didn't obey him.
They hovered above the machine, twitching violently — like his body had forgotten how to move. His chest burned; his heart felt like it was tearing apart inside his ribs. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, anything — but nothing came out.
The color drained from her face.
Her lips parted slightly.
Her final breath left her body like a whisper.
And then… nothing.
No sound.
No motion.
Just the rain and the hollow space where life used to be.
Naoki collapsed onto the floor. His knees hit the tiles hard, the pain dulled by the storm inside his head. His breathing came in jagged gasps.
He crawled to her side, clutching her hand — already cooling.
"Mom—please wake up—I didn't mean to—"
His voice broke into fragments.
"I just wanted to stop the pain—please—just one more smile—just once—"
His body shook violently, his tears falling in quiet streams. He pressed his forehead to her chest, desperate for warmth, but found only the lifeless rhythm of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.
Minutes bled into hours.
He stayed there, unmoving, whispering apologies to no one.
The rain softened outside. The thunder faded. But inside him — it was only beginning.
His vision blurred.
His hands were trembling uncontrollably now, as if they no longer belonged to him.
A ringing filled his ears — soft at first, then louder, until it swallowed everything else.
It wasn't sound. It was pressure.
A heaviness that grew behind his eyes, pressing, pulsing, consuming.
He tried to stand, but his legs buckled. His head throbbed like it was splitting open.
The ringing turned into a dull roar, a vibration deep within his skull.
His breath hitched. He clutched his chest.
Something inside him was breaking.
Not like glass — but like a door being opened.
His tears had stopped.
He didn't notice when.
He didn't notice that his trembling had ceased too.
His body began to move — slow, unnatural, disconnected from thought.
His fingers released his mother's hand.
His head tilted slightly, eyes staring at nothing.
His breathing evened out — calm, eerily calm.
And the numbness spread.
It started in his fingertips, crawling up his arms, wrapping around his chest, his throat, until everything inside him turned still.
No grief.
No pain.
No fear.
Only emptiness.
He stood there, staring down at her, the rainlight flickering across his blank eyes.
The boy who had once wept, screamed, loved — was gone.
Something else looked out through his eyes now.
Still. Silent. Cold.
His lips parted slightly. No sound came out. Only breath.
A breath that didn't belong to him.
The machines beside him beeped faintly — static skipping through the wires. For a moment, the lights flickered again, reflecting off the tear stains on his cheeks.
Then they steadied.
Naoki's hands dropped to his sides. He looked toward the dark window. His reflection stared back — but it wasn't him.
He didn't recognize the eyes staring from the glass.
Something in the reflection smiled.
The rain outside slowed to a drizzle.
The hospital room was quiet again. Too quiet.
Naoki stood there for a long time, his face blank, his eyes lifeless.
Then, in a single breath, he whispered something inaudible — not words, just a noise, a sound born from what was left of him.
The stillness in the air deepened.
The numbness became whole.
The silence stretched — infinite, heavy, final.
And in that silence, Naoki ceased to feel anything at all.
---
To be continued…