Suffocating BlacknessA Story by Erinburied alive in sicknessBlackness. Suffocating blackness, nothing short of a nightmare. Blood rushes through your head, the violent pounding of panic in your ears. Your chest rises and falls in quick, frightened motions. Hands clenched and knuckles white. The situation that you've awoken to is beyond a nightmare; blind, the blackness you once feared is now your reality. You feel the space around you, only to realize how little there is. A frightened squeak escapes your lips, and the sound is quickly snatched away. Your muscles contort in strange angles, but the pain doesn't matter. The beat of your foot against the wall, the vibrations that are quickly stopped, just like the sound of your fear. A scream emerges from your lips, though you know no one hears you. You don't even hear yourself. The sound is absorbed like a whisper in room full of people. Your heart beats faster, faster, faster. Three words repeat through your mind.
I'm buried alive. I'm buried alive. I'm. Buried. Alive. In panic you bang on the coffin walls, the vibrations not moving. Screaming, yelling, crying to no avail, no one is coming to your rescue, no one is coming to save you. Alone, dying alone. Alone in the dark, alone in the dark and afraid. Alone. Slowly you stop screaming, your throat raw and burning. Your face is damp with tears, they've buried you. They had no faith that you'd come back, you wouldn't awaken from your coma, they couldn't risk getting your siblings sick, your parents. If they kept you above ground, the disease would spread through the town, killing everyone. This was their only option left when you slipped into the coma. No string is attached to your wrist, and screaming had no effect. You even your breathing and straighten yourself out. Time to fall back asleep. © 2012 ErinReviews
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John the Baptist 2.0
Fake online mental health pro StatsAuthorErinOHAboutMy name is Erin, I'm fifteen. I primarily write poetry. And I'm awkward. Very awkward. more..Writing
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