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Here is a short story, give it a read and let me know how much you liked it 🙂 ❤ ❤
I have tried writing it a bit differently, here it goes-
Darkness. What? Why? Where am I? Why is it so dark in here? I-I can’t move. Why can’t I move my arms, my legs? Frozen, I’m trapped! The shape- it’s a box. I’m in a box. I’m in a box! It’s dark and I cannot move! Why can I not move? The top! I can’t move it. I can’t push it open. I’m trapped. Oh dear god, my head hurts. I’ve hit it on the top. This box is so small. I can barely push the top of it. My feet are against the bottom. It’s so dark. I’m crying. I can’t help it. I’m sobbing like a baby. Cold realization. It’s set in like ice in my blood. I’m in a box. Cave darkness, shattered dreams, a cradle of death. It surrounds me. Oppressive. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I know what this is. NO!
It can’t be- there’s no way. The words, I don’t want to think of them! Buried alive, impossible! Surely this is a dream, a nightmare from bad food or scary stories told to being buried alive just doesn’t happen. But- but- But I am. Where else can I be? The satin under my fingers- it’s just like a dream but with a clarity unmatched by anything possibly imagine. Empty vividness. Phantasmagoria that raves before my eyes. In the darkness I see nothing, yet I see everything. I cannot help but scream so loud I can throat and feel it in my bones. The sound of it is nails on a chalkboard.
Its blood and tears and the raw fear that makes my heart skip and stutter. Oh, my heart. It’s trembling with terror, pure and simple, thrumming so unsteadily I fear it will give out. I have to get out! I-I can’t stay here! Choking. I can’t breathe. As I take my fingers to the lid of what holds me confined, there were nails to wood. Nails to blood. My fingers are wet. Not wet- dripping. Abstract revulsion. Nothing more. I can’t see the red that stains my fingers. It must not exist. Another scream. Help me. Help me. Someone, anyone, help me.
Wet sleeves. Ragged satin tatters that sprinkle lightless dew on my cheek. Lightless. Lifeless. Hopeless. Scream. Dry lips, dry tongue, scraping one another. Parched. Thirsty. An agony of thirst, of hunger. How long have I been here? Minutes, hours, weeks, seconds. Earth on every side my every halting sob. Pound, pound, pound, fists on splintered wood. Eyes rolling. Hysteria. What is it I see? No, I don’t see anything. It’s too dark. But nonetheless, I see shadows stirring across my eyes like dappled ghostly forms that flee from my hands and scrabbling fingers. They hold me in the eternal night and squeeze from me more life than I have to spare. Shadows sit on my chest like weights, like choking or clutching at my neck. The ghouls, they’re strangling me! Get them off!
Oh please, someone, get them off of me! Neighboring tenants know I live and are displeased by my interment. They want they want me gone. This is not the land of the living. It is the place of the dead and gone and heartless shells and origin of the macabre. I can see them now and they surround me with prying, so that grab at me and at the clotted tatters of my fingers. Every glancing touch makes my heart miss a beat and suddenly it’s as if these ghouls don’t seek my departure as lovers, they wish no more than for me to join them. But to join them, bah! I balk at the thought. I would never join them. ‘Next, you’re next,’ they say, and I scream at them ‘Never!’ and they tell me ‘soon, soon, so very, very soon! something that I do not.
I don’t want to listen, but they scare me and their fingers dig endlessly under my skin and crawl under my shattered fingers and I smile as what f paralysis overtakes me. I’m not scared any longer. I am… calm. Their pain is mine, their anguish mine, and their joy- all mine. Unnatural stillness is mine to command as a tyrant of bone ghoulish darkness. The scrapings of metal on earth are beneath me. They are not mine to pay heed to. They are so far below me I may as well be in heaven for all that I c ridiculousness of that, though! I laugh. Deranged, but joyful. I’m laughing! Heaven.
The ridiculousness. Steel on wood. Scrapes and rattling. The lid opens, and my rescuer can only smile because I am dead, and I hold in my pockets the valuables they can sell work. I am below it. I am in hell as I’ve been for months. Laughing! I am content. For I am nothing more than a dead thing below the earth, and a tenant of the cemetery for tomorrow and eternity.
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