Suffocate

“Suffocate is a verb that refers to the act of causing or experiencing a lack of oxygen, resulting in difficulty in breathing or even death. It can also describe the feeling of being deprived of fresh air or being overwhelmed by something. When someone suffocates, their airways are blocked or restricted, preventing the normal flow of air into the lungs. This can happen due to various reasons, such as being in a confined space, inhaling harmful gases, or having something covering the mouth and nose.”

Here are 10 sample sentences using the word “suffocate” (with the word marked in bold):

1. The smoke from the fire made it hard to suffocate in the room.
2. She felt like she was going to suffocate in the crowded elevator.
3. The tight band around his chest made it difficult to suffocate.
4. The heavy blankets made her feel like she was suffocating in her sleep.
5. The lack of fresh air in the underground tunnel made it hard to suffocate.
6. The oppressive heat and humidity made it feel like they were suffocating.
7. He held his breath underwater, feeling like he was suffocating.
8. The plastic bag over his head made it impossible to breathe, causing him to suffocate.
9. The smog in the city made it difficult to breathe, making people feel like they were suffocating.
10. The tight collar around his neck made it feel like he was suffocating.

Here are the lists of synonyms, antonyms, words derived from “suffocate,” related words, phrasal verbs, common expressions, and idioms, along with their Indonesian equivalents:

Synonyms:

• Asphyxiate (Menghentikan napas)
• Smother (Mencekik)
• Choke (Mencekik)
• Strangle (Mencekik)
• Stifle (Mencegah napas)
• Suppress (Menekan)
• Drown
• Smother
• Destroy
• Throttle

The Obsidian Archive

High atop a mountain shrouded in perpetual twilight, nestled amidst jagged peaks that snagged the clouds, stood the Obsidian Archive. A marvel of ancient engineering, its monolithic black towers pierced the sky, each block engraved with glyphs pulsating with a faint, eerie luminescence. Within, knowledge slumbered, a vast ocean of whispers trapped in stone, waiting to be decoded.

Amara, a young scholar with eyes that mirrored the Archive’s twilight, felt the call like a tremor in her soul. For generations, her family had guarded the Archive, entrusted with the sacred duty of deciphering its secrets. But Amara craved more than just understanding; she yearned to unleash the knowledge, to break the stifling silence that had choked the Archive for millennia.

The elders, however, clung to tradition, their fear of the unknown strangling Amara’s ambitions. They warned of hidden dangers, of knowledge so potent it could asphyxiate the unwary mind, drown them in a deluge of forbidden truths. Undeterred, Amara embarked on a clandestine quest, her fingers tracing the glyphs in defiance of the elders’ edicts.

As she delved deeper, the Archive thrummed with hidden currents. Whispers coalesced into visions, glimpses of a forgotten civilization that had wielded knowledge as a weapon, their hubris leading to their own destruction. The air grew thick with an oppressive weight, the very stones seeming to smother her with the ghosts of the past.

Then, she stumbled upon it – the Nexus, the Archive’s beating heart, a swirling vortex of pure information. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Amara reached out, her fingertips brushing the swirling energy. The world dissolved into a cacophony of voices, a torrent of forgotten lore flooding her mind. She saw civilizations bloom and wither, witnessed secrets that could warp reality, knowledge that could throttle the very fabric of existence.

Panic flooded her. The elders’ warnings echoed in her head, but it was too late. The knowledge, once awakened, refused to be suppressed. The Archive writhed, its black stones cracking like brittle ice. The mountain trembled, and fissures snaked across the ground, spewing plumes of choking dust.

Amara realized with chilling clarity – the Archive wasn’t meant to be unlocked. The knowledge it held was not a gift, but a curse. In an act of desperate sacrifice, she channeled the torrent of information back into the Nexus, slamming it shut with a force that nearly shattered her mind.

Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. The mountain stabilized, the cracks mend. The Archive stood stoic, its secrets once again cloaked in twilight. Amara emerged, forever marked by the encounter, her eyes now flecked with the Archive’s otherworldly glow. She had stared into the abyss of knowledge and glimpsed the potential for both creation and destruction.

From that day on, Amara served as a guardian, not just of the Archive, but of the knowledge it held. She understood the throttle it could exert, the potential for it to choke the world in its grasp. Her life became a balancing act, a dance between curiosity and caution, forever burdened by the weight of secrets she could never fully reveal.

The Obsidian Archive stood as a silent testament to the power of knowledge, a constant reminder that some truths are best left buried, lest they unleash a darkness that could smother even the brightest light.

Antonyms:

• Breathe: To inhale and exhale air freely.
• Oxygenate: To supply or infuse with oxygen.
• Ventilate: To allow fresh air to circulate and remove stale or polluted air.
• Inspire: To breathe in or take in air.
• Exhale: To breathe out or release air from the lungs.
• Oxygenate: To add or increase the oxygen content in a particular environment.
• Unburden: To relieve or free from a heavy or suffocating burden.
• Refresh: To invigorate or revive with fresh air or a change of environment.
• Revive: To bring back to life or restore consciousness.
• Open up: To create space or provide access for air to flow freely.

Symphony of Storms: Where Clouds Breathe Life

In the sky-shattering city of Aethel, nestled beneath a perpetual tempest, the air was a luxury, not a right. The clouds, roiling titans of emerald and amethyst, held the key to survival – they rained down oxygenated water, the city’s lifeblood. But these storms were as capricious as they were vital, and when the rain stopped, so did the breath from Aethel’s lungs.

Elara, a young inventor with eyes that mirrored the swirling storms, dreamt of a solution. The suffocating pressure of silence between storms, the panicked gasps for every precious drop, fueled her restless spirit. She tinkered in her workshop, a haven amongst the metallic spires, surrounded by whirring cogs and crackling sparks.

Her dream: a symphony of storms, a network of contraptions that could capture the fury of the heavens and oxygenate the city even when the clouds wept no more. The elders scoffed, their faces etched with the lines of countless breathless nights. “Foolish,” they rasped, “the storms are not toys, they are gods.”

But Elara believed. She envisioned intricate vents, channeling the wind’s power, ventilating the city with stolen whispers of oxygen. She imagined solar sails, catching the storm’s light, reviving dormant reservoirs. Her blueprints, a symphony of impossible ideas, pulsed with hope.

One breathless night, when the city choked on silence, Elara knew it was time. Her contraptions, cobbled together from scavenged scraps and fueled by her own yearning for breath, rose into the swirling darkness. The elders watched, faces taut with skepticism, as Elara inspired the city’s spirit with her defiant act.

Her inventions danced with the storm, catching its fury in metallic jaws, its light in shimmering sails. The vents hummed, unburdening the air, pushing life back into Aethel’s gasping lungs. Reservoirs gurgled back to life, reviving the city’s parched veins. The elders, their skepticism dissolving with each revitalized breath, watched in awe as Elara’s mad dream painted the sky with a new constellation – a symphony of wind and light, breathing life into the heart of their storm-kissed city.

Elara, the girl who defied the silence, became a legend, her contraptions a testament to the human spirit’s refusal to suffocate. She had taught Aethel the secret language of storms, a symphony of resilience that sang in the wind, opening up a future where they no longer danced on the brink of suffocation, but soared on the wings of their own ingenuity.

The city of Aethel, with its storm-breathing heart and wind-painted canvas, stood as a beacon of hope, a testament to the power of a single breath, dared against all odds, to refresh the world with the song of life.

Words derived from “suffocate”:

• Suffocating (Mencekik)
• Suffocation (Pencekikan)
• Suffocative (Mencekik)

The Echo Chambers of Silence

In the sprawling underbelly of Megalotron, a colossal subterranean city built around a dormant volcano, life was a constant fight against suffocation. Not just from the lack of natural light, but from the weight of an oppressive silence that clung to the cavern walls like a shroud.

Ilyas, a young tinkerer with hands that danced between wires and gears, knew this silence intimately. It haunted his dreams, a suffocating whisper that threatened to smother any spark of hope. Unlike the city elders who worshipped the silence, attributing it to the volcano’s slumber, Ilyas craved the vibrant cacophony of the world above, the stories carried on the wind.

One day, tinkering deep within the city’s forgotten archives, Ilyas stumbled upon a dusty contraption – a prototype sonic resonator, designed to amplify sound waves. An audacious thought, bordering on rebellion, flickered in his mind. Could he use this relic to break the oppressive suffocative silence, to bring the whispers of the outside world into Megalotron?

The project was fraught with danger. The elders, guardians of the silence, would see his defiance as a harbinger of chaos. Yet, the thought of a life devoid of birdsong, the murmur of leaves, the laughter of children, spurred Ilyas on. He worked tirelessly, nights blurring into days, fueled by stolen bread and flickering hope.

Finally, the resonator hummed to life. Ilyas aimed it towards the volcano’s dormant maw, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He activated the device, and a tremor ran through the city. Then, silence. A suffocating pause before… a sound. Faint at first, like a whisper carried on a distant breeze – the rustling of leaves, the cry of a hawk, the melody of a forgotten song.

The silence, once monolithic, fractured. Tears welled in Ilyas’s eyes as the city around him erupted in a chorus of stunned gasps, murmurs of disbelief, and hesitant laughter. For the first time in generations, Megalotron breathed. The sound, though alien at first, became a balm to their ears, a soothing antidote to the suffocating silence they had known for so long.

The elders, however, were enraged. They saw the resonator as a threat, a gateway to chaos and unrest. They accused Ilyas of jeopardizing the fragile peace that the silence had forged. They threatened to dismantle the device, to plunge Megalotron back into darkness.

But the seeds of change had been sown. The once docile citizens, awakened by the echoes of the outside world, found their voices. A debate raged, voices rising above the newly discovered murmur of life, pleading for a glimpse of the light beyond the silence.

The elders, outnumbered and facing the weight of their city’s newfound yearning, relented. The resonator hummed on, a beacon of defiance against the suffocating silence. Megalotron, like a giant waking from a long slumber, took its first tentative steps towards the world above, guided by the echoes carried on the wind, its heart filled with the newfound music of life.

Ilyas, the boy who dared to break the silence, became a legend, his name whispered amongst the bustling streets and echoing through the cavernous walls. He had shown them that even in the deepest darkness, a single voice, if raised in defiance, can break the chains of suffocation and fill the world with the glorious symphony of life.

Related words:

• Breathless (Tidak bernapas)
• Airless (Tanpa udara)
• Constricting (Mengekang)

The City That Forgot How to Breathe

In the heart of a desolate desert, where the sun beat down like a hammer and the wind whispered only despair, stood Xibalba – the City of Breathless Men. Built upon the bones of a forgotten civilization, it was a monument to a world choked by its own ambition. The once vibrant sky hung heavy with a sickly yellow smog, an ever-present shroud trapping the air in a stifling embrace.

Here, every breath was a battle, every inhale a painful gasp. The citizens, their faces etched with the desperation of the perpetually breathless, shuffled through life like wraiths, their voices hoarse ghosts of laughter long-forgotten.

Among them lived Kai, a young sculptor with eyes like smoldering embers. Unlike others who had surrendered to the airless world, Kai clung to a memory whispered by his dying grandmother – a memory of a world painted in vibrant hues, a world kissed by a gentle breeze. It was a dream, a maddening illusion in this city of choking smog.

One day, scavenging through the city’s crumbling ruins, Kai stumbled upon a hidden chamber. Sunlight, filtered through forgotten vents, painted geometric patterns on the dust-covered floor. In the center stood a magnificent bronze sculpture – a woman, her arms outstretched, her chest rising in a graceful arc. Kai gasped, a strange, unfamiliar sensation prickling his lungs. Was it… air?

With trembling hands, he traced the intricate markings on the statue’s base. They were symbols, a forgotten language whispering of wind and sky. A spark ignited in his eyes, a flicker of defiance against the constricting smog. This was the key, the forgotten knowledge of how to breathe, how to break free from the city’s suffocating grip.

Driven by newfound hope, Kai rallied the few like-minded souls who still dared to dream. They studied the symbols, deciphered the ancient secrets. They scavenged forgotten materials, forged tools from rust and ruin. Under the cloak of night, they toiled, their whispers a counterpoint to the city’s wheezing sighs.

Finally, their creation stood tall – a towering wind turbine, a mechanical lung for the city. With the first tentative groan of its gears, a whisper of wind stirred the stagnant air. Then, a gust, a sigh, and finally, a breathless gasp as the city inhaled for the first time in generations.

The smog, shaken from its slumber, roared in fury. Towers creaked, windows shattered, but still, the turbines spun, drawing in the life-giving breath from beyond the walls. Xibalba coughed, sputtered, then slowly, miraculously, began to breathe.

As the smog cleared, revealing a sky painted with breathtaking blue, the city awoke. Children laughed, tears of joy mixing with the clean air. Laughter, music, and the song of wind filled the streets, chasing away the ghosts of breathless men.

Kai, bathed in the golden light of a rekindled sun, smiled. He had taught his city to breathe again, proving that even in the most airless depths, hope can take a single, precious gasp and breathe life back into the world. The City of Breathless Men was no more. In its place stood Xibalba Reborn, a testament to the indomitable human spirit, forever dancing on the edge of suffocation, but forever reaching for the sky.

Phrasal verbs:

• Suffocate with (Mencekik dengan)
• Suffocate under (Mencekik di bawah)
• Suffocate for (Mencekik karena)

The Symphony of Shadows: Where Lies Breathe Louder Than Truth

In the opulent city of Elysia, nestled amidst towering crystal monoliths, life was a gilded cage. Laughter rang false, echoing off polished facades, masking a truth that dared not be uttered. For Elysia thrived on lies, its very foundations built on a web of deceit meticulously woven by the Whisperers, an elite guild of truth assassins.

Elara, a young violinist with eyes that held the glint of defiance, felt the lie constrict her heart like a too-tight corset. Her music, vibrant and raw, yearned to break free, to suffocate the carefully orchestrated silence. But dissent in Elysia was a whisper quickly buried, a melody stifled before it could bloom.

One moonlit night, Elara stumbled upon a forgotten chamber, its cobwebbed walls adorned with faded murals depicting a world where truth wasn’t a weapon, but a song. A single parchment, brittle with age, held a prophecy – “When the Symphony of Shadows ends, and the Last Note echoes, Truth will rise, casting shadows into light.”

Fueled by a flickering hope, Elara delved deeper into the forbidden past, her bow an instrument of excavation, unearthing secrets buried beneath layers of lies. She learned of the Whisperers’ origins, their twisted art of twisting stories, suffocating truth under a mountain of fabrication.

Armed with stolen whispers and hidden truths, Elara composed a symphony unlike any heard before. Each note a truth flung like a sonic arrow, piercing the gilded facade of Elysia. Her music, raw and unfiltered, painted tales of forgotten freedom, echoing with the anguish of millions suffocated for a lie.

The city trembled. The Whisperers, their power built on silence, flailed against the storm of sound. Propaganda screens flickered, their carefully crafted narratives unraveling beneath the onslaught of Elara’s defiant aria. People, eyes clouded with years of deception, blinked in the sudden illumination of truth.

The climax arrived with a crescendo of rage and revelation. The Last Note, a final defiant chord, ripped through the city, shattering the Whisperers’ control. Towers of lies crumbled, their crystal shards raining down like tears of catharsis.

Elysia stood naked, bruised, yet strangely alive. The sun, long hidden by the smog of deceit, bathed the city in a golden glow. Tears, laughter, and cries of joy mingled, weaving a new symphony, a chorus of truth rising from the ashes of the lie.

Elara, her violin silent for the first time, watched as the city she loved rediscovered its voice. The Symphony of Shadows had ended, not with despair, but with a hopeful dawn. She, the girl who dared to whisper truth, had taught Elysia to sing, proving that even the most suffocating lies can be overcome by the simple act of speaking one’s truth, loud and clear.

From that day on, Elara’s music, no longer a weapon of defiance, became a bridge, a melody weaving together the fractured chords of a city learning to sing its own song, a song of truth, resilience, and the unwavering human spirit that refuses to be suffocated.

Common expressions:

• Suffocating heat (Panas yang mencekik)
• Suffocating atmosphere (Atmosfer yang mencekik)
• Feel suffocated: To experience a sense of being unable to breathe or feeling trapped or overwhelmed in a situation.
• Suffocating heat: Referring to extremely hot weather that makes it difficult to breathe comfortably.
• Suffocating atmosphere: Describing an environment or situation that feels oppressive, stifling, or lacking in fresh air or freedom.
• Suffocating relationship: Referring to a relationship that feels constricting, suffocating, or emotionally draining.
• Suffocating feeling: Describing a sensation of being smothered, overwhelmed, or restricted.
• Suffocating under pressure: Referring to feeling overwhelmed or burdened by stress, expectations, or responsibilities.
• Suffocating laughter: Describing uncontrollable or excessive laughter that makes it difficult to breathe or catch one’s breath.
• Suffocating silence: Referring to a tense or uncomfortable silence that feels heavy or stifling.
• Suffocating dreams: Describing a situation where one’s aspirations or ambitions feel constrained or suppressed.
• Suffocating crowd: Referring to a large, dense gathering of people that feels overwhelming or claustrophobic.

The Oasis of Unspoken Dreams: Where Whispers Bloomed Like Flowers

The desert sun beat down with a suffocating heat, painting the sand dunes in molten gold. In this land of cracked lips and mirages, nestled amidst endless horizons, lay Seraphina, a town choked by its own suffocating atmosphere. Here, whispers were currency, traded in shadowed corners, while dreams lay suffocating under pressure, buried beneath the weight of tradition.

Anya, a young weaver with eyes as bright as desert wildflowers, yearned for more than the dusty monotony of Seraphina. Her fingers, nimble at the loom, ached to weave tapestries beyond the prescribed, predictable patterns. She felt suffocated by the unspoken, the dreams her mother dared not utter, the ambitions her father choked back with each cough of sand.

One blistering afternoon, while scavenging for discarded threads, Anya stumbled upon a hidden grotto, a cool haven sheltered from the suffocating sun. Sunlight, filtering through cracks in the rock, painted fantastical scenes on the cavern walls – mythical creatures, soaring on wings of impossible colors, whispering tales of distant lands where dreams bloomed like desert flowers.

Anya’s heart, long trapped in the stifling silence of Seraphina, found its voice in the whispers of the cave. She started weaving these fantastical stories into her tapestries, infusing her threads with the vibrant hues of forgotten dreams. Her creations, bursting with forbidden whispers, became windows into an unseen world, a silent rebellion against the suffocating realities of Seraphina.

News of Anya’s unorthodox tapestries spread like desert wind, whispering secrets in the town square. Some scoffed, their hearts hardened by the sun and tradition. Others, though, saw in her work a reflection of their own suffocating dreams. A seamstress, silenced by an arranged marriage, bought a tapestry depicting a woman dancing on a rainbow. A young boy, smothered by his family’s expectations, stole a glimpse of a soaring dragon, its wings painted with the colors of freedom.

Slowly, Seraphina began to crack. Conversations shifted from hushed whispers to open murmurs, then, finally, to boisterous laughter. Children painted the town walls with Anya’s fantastical creatures, their dreams blooming like wildflowers in the harsh desert. The elders, their faces etched with the lines of a life lived in silence, found solace in the vibrant tapestries, the unspoken whispers finally reaching their hearts.

Anya, the weaver of dreams, had unraveled the suffocating silence of Seraphina. Her threads, whispers made visible, had shown the town that even in the driest desert, dreams could bloom, finding sustenance in the quietest voices, breaking free from the shackles of tradition, and painting the world anew with the colors of unspoken longing. And so, Seraphina, once trapped under the stifling sun, blossomed into an oasis of whispered dreams, a testament to the power of one voice to break the silence and breathe life into even the most suffocating corners of the world.

Here are some idioms related to the concept of suffocation:

1. Suffocating under a mountain of work: Feeling overwhelmed or burdened by a large amount of work or responsibilities.
2. Suffocating in a fishbowl: Feeling trapped or confined in a situation where one’s actions or privacy are constantly observed or restricted.
3. Suffocating in red tape: Referring to being hindered or slowed down by excessive bureaucratic procedures or regulations.
4. Suffocating in debt: Describing a situation where one feels overwhelmed or trapped by a significant amount of financial obligations.
5. Suffocating in a toxic environment: Referring to being in a negative or unhealthy environment that stifles personal growth or well-being.
6. Suffocating in silence: Describing a situation where there is a lack of communication or expression, leading to discomfort or tension.
7. Suffocating in a loveless marriage: Referring to feeling trapped or unhappy in a marriage or relationship lacking love or emotional fulfillment.
8. Suffocating in a crowded room: Describing a situation where one feels overwhelmed or claustrophobic due to being surrounded by too many people.
9. Suffocating in the spotlight: Referring to feeling overwhelmed or pressured by public attention or scrutiny.
10. Suffocating in one’s own thoughts: Describing a situation where one feels overwhelmed or burdened by their own negative or intrusive thoughts.

These idioms use the concept of suffocation metaphorically to convey feelings of being trapped, overwhelmed, or restricted in various situations.

Underneath the Glittering Shell: Where Secrets Choked the City’s Breath

In the shimmering metropolis of Nova Lumina, where skyscrapers kissed the clouds and holographic billboards pulsed with endless promises, Ava felt suffocating under a mountain of work. As the city’s chief architect, her life was a gilded cage, each day a maze of impossible deadlines and suffocating expectations.

But the real suffocation wasn’t the work; it was the gilded facade of Nova Lumina itself. Underneath the gleaming towers and manicured parks, secrets festered like mold, each one a tightening noose around the city’s throat. Ava knew this firsthand. Her father, a whistleblower swallowed by the city’s toxic environment, had vanished years ago, leaving behind a gaping hole in her life and a gnawing suspicion in her heart.

One stormy night, while poring over blueprints in her office, Ava stumbled upon a hidden hatch, a whisper of rebellion disguised as a ventilation shaft. It led her to a network of forgotten tunnels, a city beneath the city, pulsating with the silent whispers of dissent. Here, rebels huddled in flickering lamplight, their faces etched with the ghosts of suffocating in shadows. They called themselves the Lumens, shadows fighting to bring light to the city’s dark underbelly.

Ava, fueled by a thirst for truth and a desperate need to find her father, joined their ranks. They became her family, their shared secrets a lifeline in the suffocating silence of Nova Lumina. Together, they delved into the city’s bureaucratic bowels, suffocating in red tape to unravel the web of corruption that held the city hostage.

Their investigation led them to Mayor Solari, the city’s charismatic leader, whose every smile seemed spun from moonlight. Ava saw him now, not as a beacon of progress, but as a puppeteer, his strings controlling the lives of millions. The secret they unearthed – a toxic waste facility hidden beneath the city’s foundations, poisoning its very breath – was the ultimate chokehold, a weapon aimed at the heart of Nova Lumina.

The Lumens, their whispers amplified by Ava’s architectural ingenuity, launched a silent rebellion. They projected the truth onto the city’s screens, hacking into the system to turn Mayor Solari’s own glitz against him. His carefully crafted image dissolved, replaced by the grimy truth of his machinations.

Nova Lumina, choked by the weight of its own lies, roared to life. Protests erupted in the streets, a vibrant storm against the sterile order. Citizens emerged from their gilded fishbowls, their voices breaking the suffocating silence, demanding change.

Mayor Solari, his power crumbling like a sandcastle, was swept away by the tide of truth. With him went the toxic facility, dismantled amidst cheers and tears of relief. Nova Lumina, stripped bare, stood blinking in the newfound light, ready to rebuild on a foundation of truth.

Ava, the architect who found her light in the shadows, became a symbol of the city’s rebirth. She redesigned Nova Lumina, not with steel and glass, but with parks and open spaces, a city that breathed. Her father, found alive but lost in the labyrinthine depths of the city’s secrets, was reunited with his daughter, their scarred hearts mending in the shared sunlight.

Nova Lumina, a city that had suffocated in its own glitz, finally took a deep breath, a city reborn from the ashes of deception, its future painted with the colors of truth, whispered promises etched in the architecture of its hope.