Here in this dull, white room, you’re going to tell me I’m lying, concoct some story about how it’s all in my head as you shake your heads, both of them in synchrony, while you tell me the danger isn’t real. You’re going to tell me that I need to do more breathing exercises, focus on anything else instead, slow down, as if anyone can do that nowadays, but I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I can’t relax, I really can’t, and it has nothing to do with this refurbished spaceship that I’m in with you now. I’m not scared of you or this place, no, it’s something else. It’s something I can’t escape.

You see, no one cares that I can’t breathe, every moment an effort to take in air, a consequence of seeing my life almost end when I was young. Strangers can never hear the panic in my rapid words, the fear, so they go about their days, smiling like cherubs, and I smile, too, even though I’m scared all the time. Tortured every minute by my breaths that I feel coming in and out, in and out again, frustrating, unfillable balloons, always leaking, always rebelling, traitorous organs! And I hope every time that I can get enough air, but still you’re going to tell me that it’s not real, that it’s all in my head, as if my head isn’t a part of me, because that’s what all the others said when I sought help. You ignorant, perfect person with your steady breaths and wonderful life, stop telling me to relax when you don’t understand.

Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I forgot that you can’t be a perfect person, because you’re not human, but you get the point, right?

And besides, you breathe like us, don’t you? All organisms must breathe so you must, yet now you’re shaking both your heads, attached to one set of shoulders like you’ve been pasted together. I assume a double headshake means the answer’s definitely no, you don’t breathe? That must be nice to not worry about how much air is going into your lungs. But still, you’re wasting your time, since, you know already, I’m always terrified and haunted by my breaths. There’s no saving me. You really should just let me go because no one has ever been able to help me before. I shouldn’t have listened to my mother when she said to visit you, I don’t know why I’m here.

Oh? You say that you can turn me into one of you?

Interesting thought.

Is that why you’re reaching your four arms over me now as if I’ve already agreed? Hold on. Let me think. I didn’t know something like this was possible. I wasn’t prepared to give up my humanity. This is a big decision.

If I agree, does it mean my lungs will be removed? How painful is that? Estimated recovery time, what would you say? You know, there’s a lot to consider before one decides to change their DNA.

And all this talk has gotten my nerves bothered, can you hear it how quickly I’m breathing? That’s the panic coming back to me, the panic I can never escape. Maybe, I should get going.

You know what? I really don’t know why I’m here. I appreciate your time, but I think I’ll just keep dealing on my own. It’s pretty bad, yet I’ll figure something out. Plenty of people live in constant distress and truthfully, I don’t feel that awful right now. Actually, it’s like I’m not breathing at all.

What do you mean the procedure’s already been completed?