2

The soil kept falling.

Each impact landed with a different weight, a different cruelty. Some clumps struck softly, scattering like reluctant apologies. Others hit hard, dense and wet, rattling the coffin lid with enough force to make his teeth chatter. The rhythm was irregular, unpredictable just enough to keep his mind alert, just enough to prevent him from slipping into the numbness that would make it easier.

They’re really doing this.

The thought repeated itself, looping endlessly, as if his brain were trying to make sense of it through sheer repetition. His body was no longer responding properly to commands. His fingers twitched without direction. His legs trembled in useless spasms, cramped and locked in a position they were never meant to endure for long.

The air was wrong now.

Too warm. Too thick.

Every breath felt borrowed, stolen from a dwindling supply that did not replenish fast enough. His lungs burned, expanding painfully against the coffin’s narrow confines, ribs pressing against unyielding wood. The smell had changed, tooless flowers, more earth. Damp soil seeped through microscopic gaps, carrying with it the scent of decay and inevitability.

He tried to count again.

One.

Two.

Three.

The numbers slipped away from him.

His heartbeat was no longer steady. It galloped wildly, then slowed without warning, each irregular thud sending a jolt of fear through him. Dizziness crept in, blurring the edges of his thoughts. The darkness behind his closed eyes pulsed faintly, alive with static.

No, he thought dimly. Stay awake.

He bit down on his tongue.

Pain flared sharp and sudden, copper flooding his mouth. The taste grounded him, anchoring him briefly to himself. He welcomed it. Pain meant awareness. Awareness meant time however little of it remained.

Above him, the priest’s voice droned on.

The words filtered down through layers of soil and wood, warped and distant, stripped of meaning. Phrases about rest. Peace. Eternal sleep.

The irony was suffocating.

His jaw trembled. A broken sound escaped his throat, half-sob, half-gasp, swallowed instantly by the coffin. He pressed his lips together, refusing to waste breath on sounds no one would hear.

Someone has to notice, he thought. Someone has to feel this.

But the world above continued as if nothing were wrong.

Memories began to surface unbidden, sharp fragments cutting through the fog creeping into his mind. Faces. Voices. Moments he had dismissed as insignificant now loomed painfully large.

A laugh he never returned.

A message left unread.

A goodbye he never said.

Regret wrapped itself around him tighter than the coffin ever could.

His mother’s face surfaced next, uninvited and merciless. Not as she was now tear-streaked, dressed in black but as she had been years ago, standing in the kitchen with her back to him, shoulders stiff, voice cold.

“Don’t make things harder than they already are.”

He had learned then what it meant to disappear quietly.

Another memory followed hands gripping his wrists, too tight, nails biting into skin. A voice low and furious, spitting words meant to wound deeper than any blade.

“You don’t get to choose.”

His breath hitched violently.

The coffin felt smaller.

The darkness pressed closer.

His chest seized as a powerful cough wracked his body, stealing precious air. He gasped reflexively afterward, lungs screaming, panic exploding fully now. He knocked again, desperately, fists slamming against the wood with whatever strength remained.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The sound was weaker this time. Slower.

His arms burned, muscles trembling uncontrollably. Tears streamed freely now, hot and useless, soaking into the fabric beneath his head. He didn’t bother trying to stop them.

“I’m here,” he tried to say.

Only a wheeze came out.

The soil stopped falling.

Hope flickered again, cruel and bright.

Footsteps approached overhead, careful, hesitant. A shadow passed across the coffin lid, momentarily blocking the faint light filtering through the cracks. Someone leaned closer.

“Did you hear something?” a woman whispered.

His heart leapt painfully.

“Yes,” another voice replied but this one was uncertain. Doubt crept into the tone. “I thought I did.”

His entire being focused on that doubt, clung to it desperately.

Please, he begged silently. Please don’t ignore this.

A hand pressed against the coffin lid.

The pressure made him gasp, startled by the sudden proximity of the living. He knocked again, summoning the last reserves of his strength, knuckles scraping painfully against the interior.

The hand froze.

Silence stretched.

Seconds passed like years.

Then, “It’s just settling,” a man said briskly. “Coffins make noises once the dirt starts shifting.”

The hand lifted.

The footsteps retreated.

The soil resumed its descent.

Something inside him broke completely then not loudly, not dramatically, but with a quiet, irrevocable snap. His body sagged, strength draining out of him in a rush. His knocks slowed, then stopped altogether.

What was the point?

Even if they opened it now even if they realized their mistake how long had he already been without proper air? How much damage had already been done?

The questions drifted lazily through his mind, unanchored, as his thoughts began to slip further apart.

His breathing turned erratic.

In.

Out

No, not enough.

His lungs refused to cooperate, chest spasming painfully as his body fought a losing battle. Black spots danced behind his eyelids, multiplying, spreading like ink in water.

The priest’s voice faded.

The sounds above dulled, muted further, as if someone were slowly turning down the volume on the world.

He wondered if this was how people really died not with clarity, but with confusion. Not with acceptance, but with unfinished thoughts and half-formed apologies.

A strange calm settled over him.

It frightened him more than the panic had.

His heartbeat slowed, heavy and sluggish now, each beat requiring effort. His body felt distant, unreal, like it no longer fully belonged to him.

I don’t want to be forgotten, he thought faintly.

The thought barely had time to exist before it slipped away.

Just before consciousness finally began to unravel, something strange happened.

A warmth bloomed in his chest—not physical, not entirely emotional either. A pull. A tether. As if some invisible thread had gone taut, stretching outward from him, reaching beyond the coffin, beyond the grave.

For a split second, clarity returned.

He gasped sharply, breath tearing into his lungs with unexpected force, eyes flying open in the darkness. His heart jolted, pounding hard and fast again, startled by the sudden surge of sensation.

He wasn’t alone.

Not truly.

Somewhere somewhere someone was listening.

The realization burned bright, painful and beautiful all at once.

His fingers twitched weakly.

He knocked once more.

The faintest sound.

And then the darkness rushed back in, swallowing the thought whole.

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