I'm Not Dead

Chapter One

I was surrounded by darkness and the smell of dirt. And it was at that moment that I knew I really fucking fucked up.

I needed to get out of this coffin. Literally.

Let me go back a little:

So a few weeks ago, I'm cruising along the highway, and it's past my curfew and my phone had been blowing up with texts from my parents and from my friends and my girlfriend and literally anyone else. And so I look down at the screen for a split second-I swear that was all!-and when I look back up there's a semi barreling towards me.

Yes, I had been drinking.

Yes, I was a little high.

But I was still okay to drive.

I drifted over to the other lane when I looked down at my phone and bam!

Game over. Life ended.

So I died right? And I ended up going wherever the hell you go when you die-I'm still not one hundred percent sure where I went-and before I knew it I was here.

Something else happened though. I just can't remember. Something that brought me back to life. I did something. But what?

So now I'm six feet under, trapped in a wooden box with a shit ton of dirt on top. Sounds like a riddle: if Elliot is stuck in a coffin and can hardly move his arms, has nothing sharp in his pockets, or a key, how does he escape? Anyone know the answer?

Exactly.

Okay, think, Elliot, think.

Options: scream for help, claw my way out, push the lid until it pops off, or rock it and hope that maybe they hadn't buried me yet.

I started to rock back and forth, the coffin staying still. I sighed.

Next was to push. I'd have more luck using my arms and my legs, but there's no way that I'd be able to get my legs into the right position. So I'll have to rely on my arms. They were both at my sides. I crossed them over my chest like a pharaoh, then turned my hands palms up and moved my hands beside my head. I took a deep breath and started to push. The coffin creaked under the pressure.

I kept pushing, using all my might.

Then something popped and dirt started to slowly fall in.

Okay, next step is getting past all the dirt.

I started to move the lid away, heavy still with the weight of the dirt, but moving easier with the loosening of it. As I moved the lid, more and more dirt rushed into the coffin. Once I could fit my body through, I started to dig my way upward, getting dirt and rocks down my shirt and pants and in my mouth and nose.

There was no light and I kept digging. Finally, I broke through, my fingers brushing grass.

I still dug more, having to get the rest of the way through.

I laid sprawled out on the grass beside my grave, breathing in the fresh air. It started to sprinkle, just a few drops at a time, then a whole downpour.

"DAMMIT!" I yelled as lightning flashed overhead.

I walked in the rain to my house. The whole way, I was trying to decide on what to tell my parents. "Hey, Mom and Dad, I'm not actually dead. Something happened when I was dead and now I'm alive. Please don't shoot me."

This is probably going to end with me dying. Again.

I went up to the front door and hesitated at the knob. It's my house, but if I just walk on through, who knows what might happen. I knocked, then turned the knob. It was locked. I wonder what time it is.