The Second Death

Have you ever wondered why we are so terrified of being buried alive? Most people think it's irrational. The fear of oxygen slipping away with each frantic breath. Perhaps maybe the feeling of isolation with no chance of escape from confinement. The overwhelming anxiety of loneliness was always my biggest worry. But as I lay here deep down boxed in on all sides, I actually find myself praying I am alone. At first I presumed the creaking and shifting was the earth devouring me ever further into its cold grasp. If only it was that simple. Now I realise there is something down here waiting to collect me. A strong metallic taste fills what little air remains, following my exasperated attempts to claw my way and away from this entity, the red fluid oozing from my worn down nails and dripping, seeping into the wood that envelops me. I fear It may be feeding off this. I pray It is death waiting for me, but surely he would have just taken his prize and it would all be over. No. This is something more cruel. It does this for its own amusement rather than a job. There is a thrill being had at my expense here. If I could take the easy way out then you better believe I would have taken it, but I am lacking the strength and tools to do so. My breathing is shaky, I am unable to calm it. I cannot help but wonder if I should be conserving air or whether to expel it at a more rapid rate- will either speed up the process or just prolong this torment? I feel like I should already be dead. I cannot recall how long I have been here. Is it merely delirium or is this Thing keeping me alive to further enjoy its little game? In these circumstances my fate should be certain, but I am beginning to have doubts. No one can ever confirm what happens after death, it is the endless mystery of life. Though some have theorised that the brain remains conscious even after the body dies - However, it is uncertain how long for. If this is the case, am I destined to suffer this fate for eternity. Is there really a creature outside waiting for me, or am I simply trapped with a monster of my own subconscious. My mind can do nothing but race with its attempts to justify what is happening, there is no way to switch it off. A scratch runs its way along the exterior of my coffin, the screech piercing my ears like nails on a chalkboard. It's still out there, clearly with no intent of finishing me off any time soon. Just leaving me to lay here feeling each side closing in on me every second. Like a boa constrictor It seems to restrict my movement with every exhale. It feels as if I were to scream then my skeleton would collapse, crushing my vital organs within it. I can't take any more of this. I am dead either way and whatever It is wants me driven to insanity or is enjoying the journey towards it. I refuse to give It the satisfaction. Enough propelling of my body to sharply connect my head to the strong material around me has to end it quick enough. Tensing every muscle in my body, I focus the energy to my neck, ready for a big

THRASH

Not enough. Preparing myself again, with more power

THRASH

The smell of metal increases

THRASH

I will have the last laugh

THRASH

My mind begins to loosen its grip

THRASH

I am so close, I can feel it. Just a few-

THRASH

THRASH

THRASH

I’m slipping. Everything is spinning around me. Vision is unfocussed. Black spots begin to eliminate the remaining colours I can see. My body is completely limp, except for an involuntary twitching between my thumb and forefinger on my left arm. Just as the final images seep into blackness, I can make out a blurred face peering at me from my feet. A smile peering across its face.

“You lose” I hear myself using up my last breath as the Thing scuttles further up my body until it hangs inches away. Then, at last, I slip away.