Buried

I groaned as I roused myself from an unexpected nap, pulling myself upright —

"Agh!" I yelped as my head smacked into something hard.

Finally, my eyes adjusted to the near darkness surrounding me — the only light coming from a candle resting near my head. Next to the candle laid a small piece of paper folded into a square. Beginning to panic, I snatched up the note and read:

"You have until this candle burns out. Say your prayers.
xo"

Frantically, I banged my fists against the satin covered coffin lid, clawing until my nails were ripped down to the beds.

After hours — or what felt like hours — I resigned myself to my fate. Figuring it couldn't hurt, I thought of every god or deity I'd ever heard of and prayed. Hard.

As I finished with the twelve Olympians and started speaking to the Egyptians hoping that Isis, if the goddess of life were watching, wouldn't let me die in such a terrible way — I noticed that the candle was flickering at the end of its wick.

Fresh tears filled my eyes as I watched my life come to an end.

The flame disappeared and a sob tore from my throat.

Precious little air was left in the coffin and I knew I was out of time.

Just as the darkness began to feel comforting, my eyelids slipping closed as less and less air found its way into my lungs, I began to dream.

The soft sounds of nature touched my ears and the scent of a crackling fire filled the casket. In my mind I watched as Hank, my childhood dog, ran around the two tents pitched near the fire. I remembered this trip. It had been our last to the meadow when I was ten. Before my mother passed.

Unwilling to mar such a good memory with thoughts of my impending demise, I merely looked around the site. My old tent that now sat under a layer of dust in Dad's attic.

Dad. He would be devastated when he found out about my disappearance. My death. Would he know how it happened? Would they find my body? Did I want them to? It would destroy him. My brother and I were the only ones he had left and Emmett wasn't even in the country now.

Stop it, Royce, I told myself firmly. Dad is strong. And Em will come back as soon as he hears. They'll pull through it. Tears blurred the vision of my dream and I tried to force my mind off of what I couldn't control. Instead, I turned to the roasting stick in my hand, the marshmallow on the end black and crispy — just the way I like it.