pushed into the darkness

He couldn't tell what was more exhausting, the endless coughs that wracked his small frame or watching his mother cry. She'd tried so hard, tried to make them better, him and his sister. She'd sat at the edge of their bed when all he could see of her was a feverish blur. But the blur was familiar, even if he couldn't make out her perfect features. And though he could barely breath, for some reason he could smell her tears.

Small hands reached for him, her screams waking him from the clouded dream he'd been having. Something about being warm, about being happy, only to feel his sister's nails scratch his back wildly he. He was awake now, cold and shivering despite the blankets draped across him. His sister was still babbling in her sleep, but there was someone else there. His mother, her warm hands smoothing back his hair, calming his sister's cries.

Instantly he felt better just because she was there.

There as another long moment, when his mother left again but then she was back. He wanted to open his eyes and see her, but he couldn't, he was too tired. Then he couldn't breathe. It was stifling, though he'd been through spells of not being able to breath before. He tried not to panic, though he felt his sister twitch beside him. His mother would help, she always did.

But she didn't. And then he twitched, tired hands reaching for whatever was blocking his breath, but he couldn't do anything, he was too tired.

Everything went blank.