The Hole
I am underground, surrounded by dirt, clay, and various rocks poking my back and legs.
This is where I am going to die.
A few moments ago, I was thrown into my grave, and a large slab of wood had blocked out the sunlight and the deep blue sky. Two things I will never see again.
I can hear the men dropping soil onto the wood, covering my only chance of escape. But I do not care. I am going to die soon anyway. I have been prepared for this moment since the day I was born.
I believe I have lived for about 20 years, but in this day and age and in my social standing, it is difficult to say.
My mother died at childbirth, and her sister dropped me off at the house of the most plausible father. Here I stayed with the staff until my breasts started growing, and my hips started curving. The head chef was allowed his way with me, and in exchange I received some food and a proper jacket.
I survived on the streets by stealing, doing part-time work, and exchanging favours. But you can only live for so long without being caught, and today I went too far. Passing through a small village I had tried to take some milk from one of the cows so I could have some breakfast. The farmer caught me, and thinking I was the one that had been ruining his crops, he beat me.
Since I have not had much to eat for a long time, I quickly collapsed in a near death haze. The farmer got help from his neighbour, and thinking I was dead they threw me in the hole I am now in.
There is no place in this world for people like me. We merely lift the spirits of the people above us, reminding them that life could be worse.
My breath is growing shallow. For some reason I am reminded of a poem a priest once read to me. It sounded:
"[...] The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless-
A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge-
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them-She was the Universe."
There was more to the poem, but even though my memory is good, I can only remember this much.
My breathing has stopped, and soon I shall be laid to rest in this shallow grave of mine.
My death shall be anonymous, and I shall have no mourners.
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Poem: "Darkness" by Lord Byron
