The Fruits of Reclaimation

Prologue

             The night air was cold, surrounding the small, packed car and trying to get in, only for the heat from the inside to push it right back out. Four people were packed within this tight car. There was the Mom and Dad of course, then London, a little boy of eight years, and finally his little sister Ember of two years. Beside the two younglings were piled high in stacks of books, games, and toys, ready for the small vacation that the family was taking. 

            London was minding his business, reading a couple of books that he's already read before, but not caring because he liked them so. A couple of pages here and there were torn from so much use, and a few more had some stains on them. But as long as it was readable, London didn't mind one bit. 

            London was so invest in his book, in fact, that he didn't even realize what had happened. He only saw the bright flash of headlights come from the side, and the second the headlights came close enough to colliding, it all went dark and silent. There was nothing, no dust to cough on from the old books, no soft chattering from his parents as they talked about their plans, no cooing from his baby sister, Ember. Not even the light from the headlights, or anything, for that matter.

          There was a smell though. The smell of fresh dirt and wood, the smell of rain dropping newly from the sky, the smell of rented suits and dresses surrounding London. Next came back the sense of touch. He felt he was surrounded by wood, with some dirt falling in from above and onto him. He wanted to move, to scream, to shout. He hated getting dirty. But he couldn't move. Next came the sound. He heard a distant shovel moving back and forth, as dirt repeatedly hit the wood with a heavy thud. Rain dropped hard with crying slowly fading as the dirt covered the wood more and more. Taste came forth, and he tasted dryness, like he hadn't drunk water in months. He tasted some dirt filling his mouth. He wanted to scream, to breathe even, but he couldn't. And finally, his sight. London saw, but he didn't want to see. In the dark, since the hole wasn't completely filled yet, he was able to see moonlight from above shining through cracks of the wood. He was surrounding by this wood, almost like a box, a box that perfectly fit his shape and size. He saw the dirt piling up more and more, and he couldn't scream or yell or even move to do anything about it. He could only sit and wait and watch. 

       Time passed, and the shoveling stopped. He could hear footsteps up above him on the soft, freshly moved dirt. One by one, each pair disappeared into the distance, leaving London all alone by himself in the cold, dark box.