I Woke Up Buried Alive And Couldn’t Move
I can’t breathe. I begin to hyperventilate. My hands start to tingle before cramping up, adrenaline overpumping through my system—an onset of a panic attack.
I don’t know where I am.
It’s dark. The darkest I’ve ever been engulfed in. I can’t move. My arms hit something hard, and so do my feet. I can’t even turn onto my side.
My breathing gets more rapid before I feel my consciousness fading, slipping slowly into unconsciousness.
I come to later.
I don’t know the time, but I do realise that, in the complete darkness, there is a spot of light blinding my right eye.
It’s coming through a white pipe-like tube, allowing me to make out grey clouds above, also providing cool, fresh air which eases the onset of another panic attack.
I can’t make out my surroundings, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that I’m beneath the earth.
My mind spins. Nausea stirs deep within me. Bile burns the back of my throat.
“No, no, no—fuck, this can’t happen.”
I’m spiralling.
I begin to shout as loud as I can, hoping someone can hear me. My ears ache as the small, compact space absorbs all the sound.
I lay there for a while, watching the sky turn from a baby blue to a blazing orange. The whole time, I twist the gold band on my left finger, convincing myself that she’ll report me missing soon.
Evening turns to night.
My bladder nears its limit.
I can no longer hold it.
The warm liquid runs down my jean leg before turning ice cold. An uncomfortable itch begins to form in that location.
“How embarrassing,” I think to myself.
I cast my mind back to the last thing I remember.
I was drinking scotch at the bar, laughing with some… blonde, maybe.
Fuck, I can’t remember.
Didn’t someone I knew come and talk to me?
I’m quickly brought back to my situation as a loud roar reaches me. It feels like the ground itself shakes.
With each one, a periodic flash makes its way down to me.
Thunder and lightning.
Lightning always brings rain.
I hoped.
Sure enough, a short time later, I feel the first drop worm its way down the pipe.
I tilt my head back and take in as much rainwater as I possibly can.
A moan leaves my lips.
The water feels good going down my hoarse throat.
Another day passes.
More piss runs down my leg.
My anger grows.
My disdain toward my wife begins to rapidly build.
“We have money—a shit ton. Why isn’t that slut fucking spending it to find me?”
My teeth remain gritted the entire time.
I manage to doze off periodically as my legs stop cramping.
Memories flood back.
I went to the bar to meet someone.
Sammy.
An absolute blonde baddie I met on Tinder.
I remember now.
I suggested an absolute dive bar in the middle of nowhere.
She was perfect.
I couldn’t wait to fuck her.
I bought drink after drink.
She was hanging onto me, giggling the entire time.
A couple of hours in, I start feeling woozy.
She’s texting someone.
“Who the fuck are you texting when you’re with me?” I snap.
“Oh, you’ll know who soon,” she replies.
My head is spinning.
I’m barely keeping myself aware.
The bar door opens.
A firm hand slaps my back, pushing me out of my chair and sprawling across the bar.
A deep, raspy male voice whispers into my ear.
I know who it is.
A voice echoes down the tube, bringing me back to the present.
The same voice.
My father-in-law.
A short, fat, but financially powerful man.
That’s what drew me in.
What made me want to marry into the family.
“You still alive down there, Bradley?”
The vibration makes his voice sound almost ethereal.
I go to say yes, but he cuts me off.
“You know Sammy is actually my secretary, who just so happened to see your dating account. So, like a good employee, she told me all about it.”
My stomach drops.
Then the rage builds.
At first, I try to defuse the situation.
“No, Victor, it’s just an app to meet new people. I’ve been feeling quite lonely lately.”
I add my usual charming chuckle at the end.
It always disarms people.
It doesn’t work.
He carries on like he can’t hear me.
Shit.
Maybe he can’t.
“I told you what would happen if you broke my baby girl’s heart. I’ll spare her the details. She’ll just think you ran off.”
I lose it.
I call him every vile word I can think of.
Tell him I never loved that porker.
That I only wanted his money.
“And if you wanted to kill me, why give me a breathing tube?”
I say it smugly.
Victor laughs.
“A breathing tube?” he says.
“Who says this was a breathing tube?”
My stomach drops again.
“I needed a way to pour the concrete in.”
I start pleading.
Begging for my life.
The last thing I see—
Is the tube being covered.
Before the concrete smothers my face.