By Stella V., TIWP Student

A thick heavy blanket of fog rolls over me, the gray cloud of impending doom coming at me covering my head and suffocating me. The condensed air pours through my nose and mouth, down my throat, and fills my lungs. I gasp, and I gasp rapidly, and no breath is deep enough to push the poisoned fog out. My stomach drops like a canyon, plunging faster than a sinkhole pulling harder than quicksand. The poisoned gas flows into this pit, taking over my whole body. And suddenly, flames erupt, spreading like wildfire, burning the forest inside of me that’s feeding these embers of electricity. The orange and yellow light bite at the inside of me, tearing me apart and burning stronger still, while I’m still choking and gasping for breath. I try to pull myself out of it, but it’s like pulling yourself out of a whirlpool. The flames have turned to searing hot red, almost purple-like, as they climb deeper into the pit. Small tremors grow in me, and I start to shake like an earthquake. As I’m gasping for breath, almost out, and the fire is taking over me, and I lie there shaking, I feel myself intertwining with the ground. The soil is pressing into my back, reminding me that I am okay. The grass and plants rapidly grow over me like a shield, covering me from head to toe. The fire inside me dies down, and the fog leaves my lungs. I lie there and look, actually, look at these things taking over me. The way each dewdrop glistens with the fog, not gray with doom, but almost like glitter. I’m still shaking, but this earthquake has formed new mountains and peaks to reach. The fire in my stomach was never there to hurt me, but to keep me awake and push me to keep going. I look at the beauty of these pressures. I’m so incredibly lucky to have something to reach for, something I care so intensely about. These stressors aren’t there to stop me, but to show why I need to keep going.