Breath

A cave. A cave deep and dark. Go further, it urges, explore, it says. I go, I listen. It's wet, the cave. Wet, but covered in lights, in bumps. Stalagmites hang at the entrance, rows and rows and rows. Stalagtights too. Only at the front though, never further back. Pearly white rocks, so pretty. It's a cavern, wide and glittery. Humid too. The water is sticky. I take a breath. The air stinks. Like rotted meat and stomach acid. This cave was always here, right? I look again. Crystals cover the walls, so pretty, so glimmery. I want to take one and go back. The cavern is beautiful, it takes my breath away. I lean on the wall. It moves. Why does the wall move? I turn around. The cave entrance wobbles. A gust of humid air, from the inside. It smells like rotted meat and stomach acid. Its not a cave, its a mouth. The mouth of a beast. I take a breath. Why is the last thing I smell this putrid air. This horrid air. This putrid, horrid, humid, sticky breath of this huge beast. I take another breath. The mouth snaps closed. The world goes black. I take a breath, my last one. Another. Then no more.