I swallow abruptly, body trembling on its weak legs. Something within me screams that I could get crushed or attacked at any moment and never see it coming. The panic paralyzes me, my knees buckling up and readying to collapse beneath me as I fall apart on the inside. The terrifying reality of my spontaneous demise is all too real for my young form, I'm so vulnerable in this vast world, so small and fragile.

My lips hang open as my tongue dries out, giving a sandpaper texture to it as I rub it against the roof of my mouth, grasping for words to choke out. Deep in my throat my anxieties have tied a neat little knot, leaving me to stumble awkwardly an inch or two while my lungs collapse again. Panic spreads over me like a plague, my sudden sputter and cough a sign of my fears all crashing down in waves. The stranger before me serves no threat, but I do not know that. I cannot see their body language or the intent within their eyes when they speak to me. The blood coursing through my ears dampens their words, filling my world with a thundering sound that blocks out the panicked gasps leaving my lips. I've become a rattling mess of worry, the anxieties I hold tearing from my gut like carnivorous beasts. My desperation to not feel so alone, to not be so pitiful, it wells within my throat as I tremble and cough. Breathing in becomes a difficult task, sharp sputtering exhales leaving me lightheaded and tired. I won't make it, maybe I'll suffocate to death because of these cursed lungs I've been gifted with. It's odd that at such a young age I'd already be afraid of death, of getting stolen away by talons that will carry me to a dark abyss. 

In my final moments of this unexpected panic, I spew stuttering words. They're barely a whisper as they leave my tongue, caught up in my wasteland of a mouth. "Sh-Shah- Shahrokh." I spit, ruffled feathers quivering as I feel my paper thin skin begin to peel away, this stranger learning just a fraction about me but still more than most know. I barely make a sound to anyone but my mom, who even then rarely hears me speak. I prefer to sit and listen to what others have to say rather than offer my own words, to hear their wise words than taint their conversation with my naive ones."words."

Shahrokh