by Shayan Santicola Landrum
I awoke during my own burial. I thought I had opened my eyes but all was black. My mouth was stuffed with dirt and my lungs refused to move. There were distant voices above me, muffled through the earth, and I thought they must be the ones who did this to me. Could they not hear me struggling down here? Why had they buried me? Had I died? Then why was I alive again? In a wave of realization that instantly turned to panic, I felt the visceral reality of my body: no air, soil stuffed deep into my chest blocking my lungs, pain everywhere, and the heavy weight of many feet of ground on top of me. Overwhelmed, I let the cold envelope me, and became, once again, unaware.