(Model is Drea Morgan)

My face is burning as air and blood flow is interrupted. I focus and roll back up into my side. I can just breathe again.

“Any chance is better than none. Good luck. If you escape, I won’t come back. I’ll let someone else have a shot. Professional courtesy, you know?”

I wasn’t listening. I was furiously turning my hands, looking for slack that wasn’t there. My eyes were welling up with tears and drool spilled out in a long string from my stuffed mouth.

I can’t hold this position much longer. And I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get back up into it if I roll back down.

This might be it. My struggling grows weak. I’m trapped. I can’t hold on any more.