Sunday, February 13, 2011

Short Story Called "The Living Dead"

I awake with a headache in a pit of darkness 

Eyes widen trying to capture even the slightest of images

Lifting my hand slowly to the left I feel a wall, my right touches the other side.

A deadening thought comes over me

Burst of panic arises and I hit and wiggle trying to release myself

I yell, nothing, I hear nothing but my own breathe in reply

Coming somewhat out of the panic, I situate what is going on in the darkness, the sides, which my
fingers still touched, were cold. There’s heaviness on my chest 


My joints are fused in fear, like a board

The need to move is greater each minute that passes

A stream of tears floods my eyes and runs down the sides of my face.

I am unable to dry my face, so the salt substance dries

Breathing deeply I feel claustrophobic

Panic still rushes throw me in sudden bursts

My heart ponders the idea of escape and my last words at the same time

I concentrate on my breathing but the more I try the worse it gets

This is just a joke I tell myself, this is just a joke. 

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