I have anemophobia. Anemophobia is the fear of air. How does one live with the fear of air? Easily; for someone like me. For you, on the other hand, it might be just a little bit more difficult.
You see, when they decided to experiment with air intake, they figured that they should experiment by using a child, considering the fact that it was not as adapted to breathing as an older human being would be. And, well, I happened to be that baby.
My name is Blade. I am fifteen years old and no longer have to breathe.
"Blade!" a voice called, becoming louder the closer it got.
Hiding in the back corner of her bedroom, she crouched behind her bookshelf, trying to keep herself hidden.
I can't let her find me, she thought.
The 'her' Blade was referring to was a girl by the name of Lasie. Dressed in pink 24/7 and preppy to the core, Blade preferred to stay away from her.
But though Blade hated Lasie, there was one thing she liked about having Lasie around. The glass room Blade was confined in had no supply of oxygen. Lasie needed oxygen, whereas Blade didn't For Lasie to enter Blade's room, she would need to be accompanied by one of the whitecoats that ran the torture cell Blade had the misfortune of calling a home. The only way for Lasie to enter would be to put on an oxygen suit, like the kind the astronauts wore, and Blade would have to buzz her in; which wasn't going to happen if Blade had anything to say about it.
Were it possible, Blade would have escaped. Fifteen years living in the same room and Blade knew every loose ceiling and floor panel and board there was. She knew all the weak spots in the room, and every glitch in the security system. Had anyone asked her, she would have gladly helped someone escape. But that was moot, for no one would ask because no one knew.
There was a reason Blade was afraid of air. It wasn't just because she didn't need to breathe air. It was because she had tried to escape.