Breathe—
Breathe—
Breathe, goddammit!
This smell! Pooh...
I'm alive! What? How?
My head pounds, each throb a debilitating percussion. My chest buckles—lungs swelling with panicked gasps. Inhaling—gulping down this force‑fed meal of turpentine and rot. Scorching. Searing down the esophagus, into my lungs, until I heave it all back up.
Fuck! It just came out my nose.
Saliva and bile dribble forth, congealing on my chin. Too weak. Too heavy to wipe away.
I look forward pitifully, eyes straining in the blinding dark, searching for some semblance of salvation.
Did it just get hotter?
We gotta leave. Now!
Move. I said MOVE!
Nails rake against the hard, leathery confines. Like an old man refusing his medicine, I writhe—desperate for escape: wriggling, jerking, kicking, scratching.
Then, finally, I see it…
Light!
A light. My love for a light. Love me back, please… No? Then I'll have to force it.
I hurl myself forward, shoving aside each obstruction, again and again, straining against the weight that would see me buried.
Hup.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five fingers muster in grim formation, advancing inexorably, span by span, until the vanguard reaches the desolate frontier of my elbow. Yet no triumphant fanfare greets their hollow conquest; for the campaign is far from won.
"Isn't that right, Sir Hand?"
"Yes! Desertion is punishable by death! No, you cannot do it."
"Don't make me come over there… Fine, you asked for it."
Summoning a guttural heave, I drive forth my second hand—nails splitting, scrabbling through the ashen mire, until… at last, the barrier yields and my hand erupts into the consecrated air beyond.
HAHAHA! Freedom! I can smell it. Just one more push for the world's loving embrace.
Bonk!
White-hot pain flares across my crumpled nose. Crippling. Cartilage screaming at something hard, smooth and unyielding… it's bone. The last obstacle, preventing my escape.
I fumble to drive my hands back, but the gap denies me.
Fine. Then let the mouth do what the hands cannot. Ivory over flesh. Desperation hath no dignity nor shame.
My jaw clamps in a merciless vise, chalk‑dust grit grinding across enamel. Pressure mounting. Gnash.
It slips
Bite again—still slips.
Third time… slips again.
"You can't break the rule of three like that!" I hiss, froth bubbling at the corners of my mouth. "I forbid it!"
I chew. I nibble. I lick. I huff. I curse. I coax. I woo. I plead. I turn to religion—realise there is no god, so I negotiate with the shadow demons.
Insanity! Of course. It was crazy to think I could negotiate with them. Foolish. We all know how useless they are— tsk, they just stand there… and watch.
A dry laugh rattles out of my skull, breaking into a wheezing, wet cough-filled phlegm.
Damn it!
Damn it all!
I bite, copper gushing. My hands flail, pleading for someone—anyone—to drag me out.
Nothing.
I slam my head against the bone.
Thud.
Again.
Thud.
My lips quiver. My vision blurs.
It's useless—I choke back a sob. This smell, my pounding head, the rash burrowing into my back… I just—can't anymore. I'm done.
I curl into myself, relaxing, yielding. This pile, my sheets. This bone, my headrest.
My eyes dim, entranced by the abyss. I stare. In it I see comfort and familiarity.
Minutes pass.
Hours pass.
Well… that's what it feels like anyway.
Time flows,
Or maybe not?
I don't really care anymore.
Funny how all your worries melt when you just, stop thinking.
I close my eyes and ruminate on a poem I drafted long ago—one of the few things I ever felt truly understood me. Yes…
What was it called again? Ah, "Why Must I Sorrow."
"I raised their hearts, yet here I'm chained,
Their freedom bought, my soul profaned.
I carved their rights with blood and breath,
And earned no gift but living death—"
Pound. Pu‑Pound. Pound. Pu‑Pound.
Don't interrupt me.
Pound. Pu‑Pound. Pound. Pu‑Pound.
What is it?
Pound. Pu‑Pound. Pound. Pu‑Pound.
It's a vibration… digging.
Someone's definitely digging searching for—I'm saved. Someone actually cares.
Reinvigorated and desperate, I cast my jaw against the rubble—once, twice, thrice—each blow a cruel toll upon my splintering portrait.
Pop.
Hehehe… nature always finds a way. Doesn't it, Jeff?
With my dislocated jaw, I clamp down—teeth teetering on the verge of collapse. Gripping, pulling, my spinal leash to rein in my dog‑like tendencies.
The bone creaks. The makeshift rope of my body strains against the tension. Hobbling.
Until finally…
Movement!
Both arms straining, I drag my shoulders up, my head bursting through the mound. I roll out and down, spitting the bone out.
"Here! I'm here!" I croak
The fog clouding my mind unveils, my vision clearing, illuminating a glistening visage of a boy.
My savior!
My anvil-like ears, battered and bruised by the relentless hammering of my own blood, at last give way—crack! A shattering rend tears the silence asunder. Through the ringing chaos, I can barely discern him.
My Hero!
My senses gradually grow in clarity, and I finally hear it—screaming?