Trapped

Darkness.

“Hello?”

There was just darkness.

“Hello?”

Still darkness.

Had he just woken up? Had he been here the whole time?

He rested his head against the wood behind him. They could be anywhere by now. Could they have left him here? Could they have left him here, alone?

Certainly not.

At least he hoped.

His breath puffed in and out the steady and staccato beat of a man on the verge of panic.

He stomped down with the heel of his foot, which hit with a depressing thump. Maybe there was a way to get through this. Maybe there was a way to get out.

At least he hoped.

He slowly pressed his hands forwards, palms facing away from him. He didn’t know why. Already in the back of his mind, a tiny voice was whispering, encouraging him, assuring him that giving up isn’t all that bad, especially in a situation like this one.

What can you expect? He was trapped in some dark place, isolated from the rest of the world. He was as good as dead. He might as well be dead. What does it matter, anyway?

He thought about Julia.

He took a refreshing breath of dank air and thought of Julia.

She was smiling. She was smiling at him. And he smiled back at her. He could see his hands reaching out for her smiling face. He felt his heartbeat crashing through his body as a trembling pinky from his right hand traced its way down her cheek. The trembling pinky stiffened, then jerked away.

Had she not shaven?

But it was the pine he was feeling. He opened his eyes to darkness, through which his hands must be hidden. His lover’s cheeks had been replaced by a pine board, the lid to his box, the box of his demise.

How had he gotten here? Why?

Why?

Another deep breath brought more thoughts of Julia. But now he thought of Julia in the way a starved child thought of food. He knew exactly what he needed. He knew exactly how to get it. He knew perfectly that he never could.

He had to do something, right? Right?

He couldn’t just sit here. He could just sit in a box and wait for death.

He had to do something. He had to do something grand, something big, something important.

Something that would impress her.

He kicked with his foot again, this time with his toe, this time upwards. The fury cracked through the wooden plank above.

He could do it. He could break down the wall. He could get out and get to his dream. It was only flimsy pine.

The he felt dirt. Cold dirt began streaming through his escape hatch and pile at his ankles.

So he would fight through that too. The dirt, after all, was just dirt. He was a man, a man with passion, a man with a dream. How much dirt could there be? How hard could it-

The board above him creaked. It creaked and it bowed. All that weight had pushed his hands back about an inch closer to his face.

Perhaps it was impossible.

The worm of defeat had slinked deeper into his mind. Its voice was at full volume and it, not the dirt, was commanding his attention during this dire time.

The pain will stop if you give up.

The pain will stop if you accept it.

The pain will stop if you relax, if you let it be, if you let go.

The pain can stop.

He closed his eyes and saw the sunshine. It was warm and comfortable.

He was walking along the deck of a ship, pine boards were coarse beneath his bare feet. Julia’s hand was smooth in his. He looked at her. He smiled. She smiled.

She smiled.

She smiled and his heart stopped.

She smiled and his heart coughed to life, like the engine of the neglected family car. It sputtered and spat while the children sat in the driveway, waiting for their trip to Disney. Mom and dad had promised. Little Kate and Little Nick wanted to go to Disney and they had promised.

Then the engine roared. The children skipped to the backseat and buckled up.

These were the dreams that could come true.

But he was still in the box. He was alone in the box, with nothing but his thoughts of Julia.

He wished he had met her. He always wanted her.

Was she even real?

The engine kept roaring. His hands thrashed against the pine, first as claws. His finger nails raked chaotically as he scratched the wood. His fingertips filled with needling splinters while the nails themselves were slowly levered away from their beds.

One broke free and rested on his cheek. Then another. Raw flesh grated against the rough surface. His teeth ground into a grimace while his lips flapped desperately around them. His lungs whined for cool air, but were given nothing but stale. Blood dripping from his fingers seared metallic against his tongue.

With nothing left to scratch with, he curled his nubs into fists and beat furiously.

What would he do if he got out of box? What about the dirt? What about the world above that? What would he even do up there? Would it be any different?

But he kept beating, only on the downbeats and in a steady eighth note rhythm. He punched and he lashed, all the while wheezing.

There was a crack. Was that the box? Where was the dirt? Would it be over now?

But the crack was accompanied by a more immediate pain than asphyxiation. He paused for a moment and brought his hands closer to his face to inspect them in the darkness. His right hand was caught in a horrible tremor, but otherwise couldn’t be felt. Perhaps it just hung there limply. His left was searing in pain, but just as useless as its brother. Something had broken and, now that the adrenaline had worn off, now that the engine had cool, nothing could be done.

A third deep, deliberate breath.

He tried to think of Julia, but his thoughts were interrupted.

With a final moaning creak the pine above him split and a current of dirt cascaded around him.

It pressed against his eyes. It filled his nostrils and, after he decided to open his mouth, it clogged his throat.

Darkness.

It was over.