Lost and Found

Breaking Free

 I thought the worst moment of my life was when I'd watched him die, but I was wrong. The worst moment of my life was waking up after the fire of life had been forced through my veins and realizing that I was still alive. I'd thought the sharp pain would be the sweet agony that ended my pitiful existence, but then came the fire. I thought the fire was their final act of brutality, a last-ditch attempt to control my death since I had taken control of when I would perish. I couldn't even scream as the pain washed through me and it burned for so long that I thought it would never end. I realized as I continued to burn that the fire wasn't earthly, it couldn't be. If it had been I surely would have succumbed by now. Surely, I would have been ash and strewn across the field.

Somehow, I had been trapped in my body and forced to endure the slow torture of the flames as they licked at every nerve in my body. Every sense was lost to me as I burned, though there was a moment that I thought I could taste the ash that my body was becoming. I didn't know if my eyes were open or closed but I saw nothing but darkness and I heard nothing as I mentally screamed for the end to come, to finally grant me mercy.

I don't know how long I burned, but it was long enough that I was starting to convince myself that this was damnation, that this was punishment for taking my fate into my own hands. I almost wished that I could writhe and scream, but something prevented me, denied me even that small relief. The world was a cruel, cruel place and it seemed that even in death that I would not be able to escape that. I wouldn't even get to see him in death, just forever exist in this agony alone.

I didn't notice it at first, the lack of pain overlooked by the presence of it everywhere else. I only noticed once my hands and feet were completely free of the fire. With that awareness came others, I realized that I was in fact moving, that my hands were grasping for something while my feet were kicking out. With each movement I could hear something breaking, I could feel tiny things falling on me.

Once I was aware that the pain was receding I could feel it slowly moving from my limbs and seeming to collect in my chest. The flames seemed to find a new hold on my already tattered heart and burned stronger than ever. As the pain built I became aware that I was in fact screaming, my ears finally registering the sound and could feel the fast and hard beating of my heart as it seemed to race toward something as the pain got worse and worse, burning hotter and hotter. I thought surely this was finally going to be the end that if I hadn't been dead before that surely this must be the moment. In that final moment of life, I felt joy despite the pain and relished the moment till suddenly I heard my heart stop.

It seemed impossible to comprehend. I heard my heart stop. It should have been impossible. I shouldn't have been able to hear my heart stop, I shouldn't be able to think about hearing my heart stop, I should be dead, I should be in whatever after life existed for me, I should be free! I didn't know what to do, I laid there confused and angry and heartbroken, breathing heavily though the pain in my chest and throat that should have been there from all my screaming was missing. In a moment of confusion and desperation, I held my breath and waited. The need to breath didn't come. The feeling wasn't exactly comfortable, but the extreme need to struggle for breath didn't come and I suddenly felt crowded and terrified.

My eyes opened and it was still dark, so I moved, the sound of something shifting came again along with the thousands of something small falling on me, slowly collecting on and around me. I put my hand up into the space, I could feel above me that there was something flat there. I pushed on it and was surprised by the sound of the material breaking as my hand went through it and more tiny things fell on me. I pulled my hand back and a steady stream of something was falling through the hole.

I put both hands up and pushed through more of the material and this time sat up, dragging myself upward into whatever was above me. I forced my way up, it almost felt like I was swimming. The realization of what I was doing didn't hit me till my hand moved and I could see again, could see the moon over head and then the grave markers several yards away. The realization that I had just dug myself out of my own grave was like a bullet to the chest, salt to my already festering wounds. I hadn't been the only one to think that I was dying. As I looked around at the graveyard with a clarity I had never seen it with before, I felt rage building within me. When my eyes settled on my would be grave marker I heard the involuntary snarl leave my lips. It was pathetic. I wouldn't have expected an engraved slab of rock but there wasn't even a wooden cross with my name on it. What marked my grave was a small stick shoved haphazardly into the dusty ground with a dirty white rag tied to it.