My brother used to tell me that I was being over-dramatic, that my hurting wasn’t legitimate, that I was faking it all for attention. He repeated it like a mantra. I tried to convince myself that what he said was true, but a part of me always knew it wasn’t.
Now, as I sit on the hard, unforgiving bed in the middle of that awful white room, my brother remains silent where he sits next to me. At this point, we already know that it isn’t asthma. It can’t be. Asthma doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night screaming. Asthma doesn’t feel like an elephant sitting on your chest.
The door creaks open with a hollow sound, and I watch as the doctor enters my room, followed by my weeping mother and emotionless father.
I wish it was just asthma.
*Note: First off, Flash Fiction is basically a really short story that can vary in length, but never goes more than 1000 words. You may better know it by the names Micro Fiction or Short Short Fiction. This is my first attempt at Flash Fiction, and it’s based on this prompt from HubPages:
Write down the first word (or name) that comes to mind when you think each of the following letters: P L M E A. Write a scene or story that uses all five of the words/names you chose.
The first words I thought of were: Plasma, Legitimate, Mantra, Elephant, and Asthma.
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