• I am not quite sure where I am. When I open my eyes no details are shown, for it is pure darkness that surrounds me. I cannot hear anything but my own steady breathing, the air for which is dank and musty, smelling of… dirt? Yes, that is right- dirt and a hint of grass. Also of wood, the type of tree I am unsure of. I am lying down, and so I try to move around and find my bearings, but it seems I am enclosed in a case of some sort. There is just enough room for me to bring my hand up to my face and brush away a lock of hair that was bothering me. I stretch and touch each of the walls around me; I have about a half foot of space on each side. It also seems that I am lying down, and there is a pillow behind my head. The sides of my box are covered with a silky fabric that is soft to the touch, while the hard wood behind it resounds with a dull thud when I knock on it. I have come to the conclusion that I am encased in a coffin that is buried underground. My grave; did I die? I am unsure.

    I try to remember what happened last time I was conscious. At first I cannot remember anything in the past, and then it comes to me slowly and leaves me confused. I think I did die- at least for a short while. Long enough for me to be pronounced dead and buried.

    I remember that I was sick; the doctor had come to my house one last time and had told my parents I was not to survive the night with the fever and cough that I had. I suppose they thought I had died during the night like he had said. Why had I not? Why am I still alive? Perhaps I really am dead and my soul refuses to leave my earthly body? Again I am unsure.

    I do not believe that I am dead because I can feel my heart beating in my chest- a slow rhythm that is keeping me calm. You would think that I would be quite alarmed and afraid of being trapped in this coffin for days before I die of suffocation or thirst. But I am not- maybe because I have already died once so dying a second time is not so scary. I am already in my coffin so it is better if I am dead in it- people who are alive do not belong in coffins.

    I am already really thirsty- so much so that it is strange I had not noticed this sooner. My throat is dry as a bone and I cannot even swallow, let alone talk. When was the last time I had something to drink? All while I had been sick I had not had a drop of water because I could not keep it in my stomach. So the last time my thirst was quenched was two days before I died. How long have I been dead though? So thirsty, but thinking of water now is making me nauseous also- I would rather have something like the wine I tried during a wedding three months ago.

    It is at this point in my thoughts that I remember one more thing that happened to me before I died. Someone had visited me in the night though I cannot remember their face. They had offered me wine, and talked with me. I refused the wine, but we talked for most of the night. I do not remember what we talked about, but I remember that afterwards I had felt so content and sleepy. I suppose that is when I had died. What I do remember about that person is their voice- it was a man’s voice and it reminded me of a singer because it was not as rough or deep as a normal man’s and was so melodic. It had hypnotized me into not being afraid to die then, either.

    Who was this person who visited me on my last night? Perhaps it was a man who had loved me from afar and when I became ill had decided to declare their love for me and make my last night more bearable. If that is so, how nice of that man. If I had lived I think I would love him back.

    Or perhaps it was a distant relative come to tell me that he had planned to give me their inheritance, but since I was dying first he had to ask my opinion on what to do with his vast wealth. I hope I told him to donate it to the church and the less fortunate. Though I might have instead told him to live life to the fullest and use it all up before he died. Either way would be good. I wish him happiness.

    The man might have been my long lost twin brother who had finally found me and now was going to lose me. Then our discussion might have been on what we have been doing in our lives so far and what we wanted to do in the future. I suppose since I have died and am going to die once again that I do not really have a future to do things in though. I hope he gets to at least fulfil his dreams in my stead.

    I try to find a more comfortable lying position, but it is nearly impossible. I have been lying on my back thus far (with my hands on my stomach, not crossed over my chest like they were when I awoke), but the coffin is not very suitable for the living and my back has become sore. The dead and buried do not really require comfort and I suppose that a living person has never really lain in here to test and see if the dead would like it. If I were to be rescued and walk the earth again I suppose I should tell the coffin makers this. I end up resting against the right side of the coffin with my left arm under my head. It is not exactly comfortable, but it is better than lying on my back. I suppose if someone were to dig up my coffin in a few years that they might find it weird that my skeleton would be in such a different position than they had originally placed me in. Oh well- I will be dead then, why should I care about the future I am not in? I do hope that I will be as beautiful in death as I am alive though.

    I suppose that just accepting my death is something which is not good for my mental well-being. If I am to die, should I at least not die sane? So what would a sane person be doing at this point? Trying to escape from their coffin? Perhaps I should at least try that once. I roll to my stomach with my hands braced beneath me and then push myself up so my back is against the lid of my coffin. I then try to get my knees under me also, but there is not enough room between the floor and the ceiling of the coffin. So I push with just my arms, but to no effect. I am not that strong, I did not expect to be able to liberate myself. The coffin stays closed and I remain trapped.

    The coffin lid would most likely be nailed shut anyways and there would probably be four to six feet of dirt packed on top. My only hope of living through this would be for someone to come back and dig me up, but who would do that? Who would desecrate a grave? No one I would hope to come for me, I am sure. I get into my comfortable position once again, knowing I will be here for a while still until I die.

    It is so dead quiet in here. I feel as though the silence is pressing on my ears, though that feeling is because of how low down I am. Either way, I am becoming claustrophobic. With the silence pressing on my ears, it is also as though the walls are closing in on me at all sides. My mother always used to tell me that when I am scared I should sing to calm myself, but my throat is too dry to even hum.

    Instead of singing or humming, I figure any sort of sound will calm me down. I start to bang against the left wall of my encasement, and then the lid. The dull thudding is better than the silence, and so I hit until my hands are so sore I cannot feel them anymore. My arms are so tired also. My whole body is tired. I have barely moved at all for so long yet I feel as though I have run for miles and up and down many hills.

    To pass the time which I still have to live, I might as well sleep. I will just sleep until I die again, I think. And so I slowly fade into unconsciousness, dreaming of nothing but never ending darkness…