Buried Alive

I knew those ruthless eyes and the hardened face behind the ski mask. He thought I was dead. It was a shame I couldn’t warn my husband who vowed and was now creating the scenario, "till death due us part". He didn't realize  the outcome of what was going to happen to him.

 

He thought he'd poisoned me. It was only enough to knock me out for a while. I didn't consume the full dosage.  Unbeknownst to him, I gave a good part of it to the feral cats. They lay dead on the porch, awaiting their own funeral.

 
 "The b***h is finally dead and I am free at last," he said, with hatred and cruelty in his voice. He bound me up and sealed my mouth shut with duct tape to insure I couldn't cry out in case I was still alive.

 

I lay on my side with both arms bound behind my back with rope. I watched with partially opened eyes, while he dug the hole. The bedrock was too hard to cut through with his shovel; the grave was shallow. I knew the dogs would eventually find me and dig me up.

 

 He kicked me into the hole faced down, next to a large protruding flat rock. I watched an earthworm, digging his way into the topsoil. Several small beetles moved into the dirt to hide.

I heard the man working the soil to fill the shovel, anger embedded every attempt. When the first clump of dirt hit my backside, I wedged my face closer to the underside of the flat rock. I figured there would be a space underneath to pocket some air. I noticed a small shriveled carrot there, left over from my spring garden. That would be the last garden I toiled in, to sow and reap by myself.

 

The second shovel of soil, including a piece of brick, hit the back of my head causing a sharp pain, but I could only moan. I felt him looking at me with deaf ears, still thinking I was dead.

 

The tape was on tight and even if I tried to move my mouth around underneath, I couldn’t work the adhesive   loose.

 

 I heard him light his cigarette. He was resting from the digging, his breathing heavy. The thought occured to me, "I won't ever have to smell that putrid Turkish tobacco again."

 

 I tried to move my legs but the rope was too tight and any movement just cut deeper into my skin.

The lawn chair creaked and there was another digging sound.

 

 “Swoosh!” the dirt hit my calves this time, mashing the rope deeper into my legs. Another shovel full hit the back of my shoulder, spraying dirt and dried weeds into my hair. I felt something moving on my head for a moment and then, it was gone. The frustration I felt from the soriasis that itched me for years of stress would soon be relieved.

 

I struggled to get closer to that space beneath the rock. I was right. The dirt went over the rock but didn’t collect under it.
 
Slowly, so as not to gain his attention, I tried to press the tape against the rock, thinking that the edge would pry it off my mouth. It worked. Little by little, the tape was pulled off the side of my face. While I worked to free my lips, I was relieved to know I would never have to kiss his nasty-smelling mouth again.

 

“Chunk, scoop, swish!” another shovel full hit my feet.

The phone was ringing inside the house. I could hear it and so could the dogs. They barked furiously at the ringing. He didn’t bother with the phone; focusing instead on finishing the job. The five dogs alerted to my attention that he would be the only one taking care of their needs and I was liberated from that task, at last.

 

“Swish!” Another load of dirt hit the back of my head, pressing it closer to the bottom of the pit and under the rock. I couldn’t reach my goal to pull off the rest of the tape. My nose was partially embedded now. The weight of the dirt was too great for me to pull my head up.

 

The phone rang again. The answering machine was off and whoever was on that line wasn’t going to give up. Starting today, having to make excuses to the bill collectors on the phone for unpaid debt was his job, not mine.

 

“Swish!” Another mound of dirt landed on my buttocks, ramming my pelvis painfully into the bedrock.

 

I should have said I was sorry for the bitching and spending the money he'd saved for that Harley Davidson. I had to take care of our financial obligations and he just couldn’t understand that.

He said, "I don't care if your credit is damaged or if the house falls down from termites or water damage. I don't care if the house burns down from the electical problems. I don't care if you have to go naked. I was going to buy me that bike regardless of how much we owe."

 

He never tried to maintain the house or save money by doing things himself. It was always a burden because it was my parents' house, and he never obligated himself to pay a dime to live there. He left that responsibility up to me. If it were his parents' house, he would have treated it differently.
 
I guess I shattered his dreams, but for years he hindered mine by staying drunk, residing in jail, eating more than his share and keeping me depressed and medicated.
 
He was furious. I never thought it would come to this. Of course if I died, and the taxes on the house went unpaid, he would be sent out on the street, the house sold to the highest bidder. There was no money left for him since all the money was in accounts with my name on them. He never learned to handle money. All the credit: my name. The truck? My name. The Yorkies were registered in my name. I willed everything to our kids. He was screwing himself by killing me, but really…

 

”I have nothing to lose,” I thought, “I led a full life despite his abuse. Our children are married, successful and happy. They are completely independent. They don’t need either one of us. His family disowned him years ago. Where will he go? No home? No car? No bike? He is going to get punished for this. I can’t remind his small, closed mind how he is doing the wrong thing and will suffer the consequences. He never adhered to my advice anyway.”
 
The tape was still loose on the end but I couldn’t move my head to pull the rest of it off my mouth. No longer would my mind be on my teeth, my weight-gain or hair loss.

“Thump!” Another load fell on my back. The weight was almost unbearable now. The phone kept ringing and the dogs kept barking.
 
“Whoosh!” another load on my aching legs. I just wished it were over. He could take all my pills now and not worry about being caught stealing them. He stayed high while I suffered in pain.

“I have no regrets,” I continued to ponder,"I’ve had an interesting life. My parents were brilliant and brought me up properly and never did anything to lose my respect. My friends have been supportive and my children love me and honored me all their lives.
 
 “I have been educated in fine schools and accomplished a lot in my short years." My memory is full of wonderful experiences. "I have faith in God and am not afraid to die. I just didn’t expect it to be this way. He is doing me a favor by keeping me from dying a slow death from cancer, liver failure, heart disease, diabetes and many things that face me in the future; my health is failing anyway. Suffocation is better than spending years of my life deteriorating.

 

“Pooosh!” Another pile of dirt hit the back of my head, sending it down under the rock more; a little bit of air still there.

 

“God, forgive him for he knows not what he is doing,"I prayed, using some of the words of Jesus."He is only hurting himself.”

 

“Woosh!”

Reviews

[Albert Freeman]

This was a fantastic read. I love the humor and resolve of her even in such a situation as she was in. Flawless writing here. You should submit this as a short story to a magazine or e-zine of some type. Her humor reminds me of mine. You get the oddest thoughts in the most stressful of situations and it's like everything slows down for you. Excellent read.