Box
Oh Christ! This is NOT good. Oh no, oh hell no. This cannot be happening! My hands are slamming against the heavy wooden lid, my nails dragging at the velvet there. I can feel the large staples pulling at my nails, making them bleed. It doesn’t smell like blood.
I go to scream, I think I can since the water’s gone…my mouth is stitched shut. It’s way too dark in here, my mind’s going crazy. Maybe if I just shut my eyes – NO – bad idea. I can feel the maggots when I do that. I can’t really see all that well, it hurts to try and open my eyes. And I can only come up with a mmmpph sound when I try to scream.
I am so screwed.
This makes me miss the rotting smell and the peeling skin, at least I could breathe. This box smells like death. Maybe that’s me. Maybe that’s what I’ve been smelling for the past few weeks; my soul, heart and mind being consumed by the blackness. Maybe my body was last. Either way, I’m going to once more be worm food. I am defiantly not leaking blood.
I’m just going to close my eyes.