Buried Alive

Eyes snap open. Darkness. Darkness everywhere making sight all but impossible. Through some sort of sixth sense, I can sense the walls that are close...too close. The stuffy air barely fills my lungs as I begin to hyperventilate when comprehension dawns. Hands and arms flail in the enclosed space to confirm my fear. Wooden ceiling, wooden walls, wooden floor, all less than a foot from my reclined form. The pine still holds a smell of earth and sap, the grain rough against my fingertips. Oh god...oh god...oh dear god... a blood curling scream tears away from my throat as only one thought fills my mind: buried alive, dear god I'm buried alive. The thought fills my head, muttering it repeatedly like some demented mantra as the panic eats away at the remnants of my sanity. I flail in the dark, tears falling down the side of my face. I try to break my prison, find a hole in the wood. Splinters lodge unheeded in my flesh as I scrape away at the sides and ceiling. Gotta...gotta get out...have to...have to get out. Deranged whisperings fill the space of my mind and box. Sticky liquid splatters on my face from above and drips down my fingers to my arms. The cacophony of smells cause me to gag and feel sick. Relentlessly the crazed scrabbling continues until slowly the whispers quiet and the scratching sounds are replaced by halfhearted scrapes of flesh against wood. Fewer thoughts, lessening panic. Numbness, that's all that's left. Slowly it permeates the air as bloody nubs claw at tear stained cheeks until stillness settles in the small box alongside a bloody, terror-stricken corpse.