Daniel awakens holding his breath. There is a throbbing in the base of his forehead. He slept through his alarms, all 10 of them. What else is new? Hazily, he breaks free from his cocoon of covers and drags himself to the bathroom, tracing his path along the walls with his left index finger. Upon his arrival at the heavy, wooden door, using what measly amount of strength he has, he braces his entire forearm against its smooth surface and pushes it open, still holding his breath. Immediately upon entering, he is struck with the image of his face. Locks of midnight black hair fall clumsily across two furrowed, heavyset brows, beneath which lie two evergreen, ever-calculating eyes. Green... such a strange color. He needs to shave, the bristles on his face painfully visible in the harsh, white light. He turns on the faucet and hovers his aching fingers under the cool stream of water before running them across his face, now close enough to the mirror that he can't avoid looking at the dark circles underneath his dark eyes. When did his eyes grow so dark? He empties what's left of the can of Barbasol that sits on the shelf to his right into his hand and spreads the concoction over his prickly mug. Daniel wets the razor and shaves. Nearly done, he nicks the skin on the cusp of his jawline, left side. He is still holding his breath. He swiftly brushes his teeth, counting the number of strokes as he does, and spits into the sink. It's time to get going.

Daniel goes back to his room and pulls a T-shirt over his wiry frame, simultaneously slipping his feet into a pair of old shoes. He grabs his trusty coat and backpack before exiting the room. He practically flies down the several flights of stairs to the lobby of the residential building in which he lives, still holding his breath. On his way out of the automatic door at the front entrance of the building, he places a cigarette between his teeth, surveying his surroundings for someone who cares about his cancerous habit. Upon finding none, he removes the butane lighter from his coat pocket and lights the nail to his coffin. Taking drag after drag after drag, he is still holding his breath. He puts out the cigarette and throws its charred remains into a nearby trashcan, continuing his trek to class. He walks on, lost in thought as usual.

"Hey Danny!" He hears his name called. He hates his name. It's so plain, so common. He'd change it if it wouldn't offend his parents. Daniel lifts his head, caught off guard by his friend, Stuart. He forces a half smile and exchanges a greeting in passing. "Hey Stu." He nearly whispers, still holding his breath. Daniel walks on. As an act of self defense, he puts his earbuds in, not plugged into anything, in hopes to find solitude until he arrives at his class.

Choir. Why has he always had choir in the morning, when it is so much harder to sing? Standing at the back of the large, echoing room, Daniel sings a wrong note. A tall, fair-haired girl notices this while staring at him from across the room. He ceases his singing as his face flushes scarlet with embarrassment. He drops his gaze from hers, still holding his breath. Daniel's day is long. He spends the remainder of classes he has on Mondays doodling in his leather notepad that follows him everywhere he goes. He holds his breath the whole time. At their conclusion, Daniel heads to the dining hall, where he makes coffee his meal. He takes it to go.

On Daniel's way back to the residence hall, coffee in hand, he sees a girl. He knows her. He doesn't see her quite so often as he used to these days. He does not know why this is, but it has been on his mind to say the least. Her name is Connie. Fear takes over as her eyes meet his. Her irises are an incandescent green. Green... such a captivating color. They look right through him. Or maybe they just look past him. He can't tell. Still holding his breath, his heart races and his pupils dilate. He can feel himself not blinking, utterly mesmerized. Although he wants to with every fiber of his being, he cannot bring himself to say a single word to her. She looks away from him, which feels, to Daniel, like a blow to the stomach. The moment passes and she is gone. Daniel spills the scalding hot coffee he is holding all over his hand. He winces in pain, still holding his breath, praying she doesn't notice. And she doesn't.

Daniel arrives back in his room. It's abnormally quiet outside for a Monday evening. He peers through the blinds of his bedroom window, staring several stories down at the ground below. The setting sun glints off his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He closes them in defeat. He spends a lengthy amount of time thinking of what it might be like to fall so far. He imagines the sensation of cool air running over him, feeling weightless, and then shudders at the idea of changing his mind halfway down. He shakes his head vigorously back and forth in an attempt to rid himself of such a toxic thought. Daniel turns away from the window, still holding his breath.

Hours pass as Daniel lies in bed, fixated upon the imperfections in the terrain of the ceiling above him. He holds his breath this entire time. In an almost sloth like fashion, he props himself up on one arm and rolls out of bed. From the depths below his cradle he extracts a case. With the case in his possession, he strides to his next destination; the common room on his floor. He sits on the tattered couch against the wall furthest from the door to the cozy dwelling and from his case removes a battered acoustic guitar, propping it's winding body over his right leg, pick in his right hand.

Daniel finally exhales. While both his voice and his instrument are somber in tone, it feels almost as if he has just exhaled all the colors that the world was at a loss for directly into the little room, filling it in its entirety. The colors and sounds rebound off every wall, and they fill Daniel with the warmth that he has been longing for: purpose. He plays for hours, trilling like the songbird he so eagerly wishes to be, but eventually, he has his fill. The colors fade from the walls and from the world and it is time for Daniel to go to sleep.

Lying in bed, snug under his cocoon of covers once again, in his head, Daniel thinks back to everything that happened to him that day. Finding no solace in this, he takes a deep, deep breath and holds it, before closing his eyes. Why does he always feel like he's paying for the night before?