Allison woke with screams in her ears. Shrill, powerful screams she doesn't recognize. She opened her eyes and they strained to make anything out through the blackness. It was silent. The screams were just an echo in the stuffed cotton silence that plugged up her ears and settled on her body like a heavy blanket. She reached up to scratch her nose and punched something hard covered by something soft.

"Fuck. What the hell?" She breathed, a feeling of claustrophobia setting in as she realized she was closed in all sides. She felt around, her fingers met satin and padding with wood underneath it. Her eyes widened as she realized where she was.

"I'm in a coffin!?" She nearly shrieked. The noise was loud in her ears. She felt above her, trying to gauge how much room she had. She raised her body a few inches before she felt the press of softness that meant the lid of the coffin. "Fuck."

Allison pressed her hands firmly against the lid, hoping it would swing open and she would simply be able to walk away. How was she supposed to get out? Assuming she was already buried, she'd have to break through the coffin and then dig her way out. She considered how she would manage that as she slowly turned on her side. Thankfully, she was thin and she could move on to her back without getting stuck.

She curled her legs under her slowly, using the strength of her arms and legs to push her back up, thinking she may use the extra power to open the lid, but it was no use. Allison gritted her teeth in frustration, turning back onto her back.

She felt something against her foot. It was hard. She nudged it upwards with her toes, unable to reach down and simply grab it. It took several minutes of diplomatic scooting with various parts of her body, but eventually, she could brush her fingertips across it. She bent her legs and grabbed it. It was a set of daggers. She felt around with her feet for anything else, but couldn't find anything else.

She took the dagger set into her hands, feeling four rings, the blades covered by leather sheathes. She released one, instinctively checking the sharpness.

She lifted the blade to the lining of the coffin and sliced at the satin until it gave way. There was a pillow stuffing material that she could feel with her fingers. Sadly, her eyes could not adjust to the darkness. With an absolute lack of light, there was no vision available whatsoever.

She ripped the cloth and stuffing out of the way and pressed the tip of the dagger into the wood. It was not very soft, but hopefully four daggers would be enough before they all wore down. Allison scratched an X into the wood so she could find spot with the tip of the daggers. She stuffed the other three knives into her belt so she wouldn't lose track of them.

She scratched away at the surface, until she could feel fibers raining down on her. She spluttered at the intrusion, squeezing her eyes closed. Thankfully, no splinters fell in her eyes. She put the knife down by her side and pulled her arms into her shirt. She pulled it up as best she would so her eyes and mouth were hidden by the cloth. She reached out through the bottom of her shirt and lifted her arms again. This time, when the splinters fell, they were caught.

It felt like days. She was surprised at her arms for staying as strong as they did. For some reason the ache did not course through her muscles as they should have. In the back of her mind she questioned her sanity, wondering if she was having another Barto dream, but she pushed it back, settling on escaping first.

After two blades dulled and stopped working effectively, she pulled back and felt along the set she had made. It was about five inches deep and two feet in diameter. Growing impatient, she sheathed a dull blade and held it by the leather. Bracing herself, she reached back as far as she could an slammed her hand forward. The ring of the dagger connected with the wood and released a muffled crack. She smiled to herself. She had to be pretty close to the surface. She beat at the wood until the beams separated. She jammed the edge of the blade into the crevice she made, jimmying the blade up and down. The sound of wood being pulled apart and a this of more matter on the material of her shirt. She smelled dirt.

Good news, I'm making progress. Bad news, I'm definitely in the ground.

She slowly pried the boards apart, and more dirt fell into the coffin. Oh god, I hope it's not raining.

Soon she was impatient with the sluggish pace of the blade, and she reached up to the ragged wood and grasped it tightly. Using all her strength, she ripped at the boards, ignoring the splinters that embedded in her palms. She used her elbows to make the hole bigger. (All this time she marveled at how little pain she felt. Maybe she had been drugged?) As more silt and soil fell in, she pushed it to the bottom of the coffin. It was probably another hour before she could slip her head and arms out. She packed the dirt on either side of the hole, making the beginnings of a tunnel. If the dirt wasn't solid, it would cave in on her and she would suffocate. (Why she hasn't already, she doesn't know.)
As she scooped dirt from over her head, she would pack it into the walls around her or drop it into the coffin. The air pocket that was the coffin was the only way she was going to be able to get out. /science/ she thought.

Despite tying her shirt tighter around her head, dirt made its way under the material and into her eyes. She had no time to worry about that. With her legs still straightened and in the coffin, she had to figure how to get them out. She couldn't just lift them out, but if she tried to break away more if the coffin, the tunnel would cave. She lifted the lid as much as she could without displacing too much dirt and slid her legs under her. They got stuck.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She was going to have to angle her tunnel and hope gravity would cooperate. She began digging behind her head, creating an angle that would allow her to make her body a straight line. After a foot or so, she could painfully pull her legs free. She was three or four feet above the coffin now. She dug straight up again, desperation driving her now. She moved wildly, using her hysteria to fuel her upwards.

When she first felt her hand breach the surface she felt a euphoria like none other. She could have cried with relief as she pushed herself up and out. Sweet, cold air swept into her lungs with bruising intensity. The darkness was cool and comforting after the stale air that was her breath trapped in a small space. Her eyes finally began to take in images again, aided by the singular street lamp about forty feet away.

She took enough time to get her bearings and know where she was. The local cemetery. "What kind of sick person...?"

She made a quick decision. She needed help. Whoever buried her alive might still be after her. She was too far away from home to walk their quickly. She ran to the first place she thought of. Scott.

There was no car in the driveway, but she hammered on the door anyway. Maybe he was home and it was just his mom who was out. There was no answer. She scoped the height of the roof and decided to climb up to his room. She clambered up the porch and grabbed hold of the siding. Swinging herself up was a lot easier than it should have been, especially considering the strenuous work she'd been doing since she woke up.

She knocked on his window, peering in and attempting to see his silhouette. She knew she must look like hell, considering her splintery hands and dirt streaked body. She just hoped he wouldn't attack her. Scott's face appeared suddenly and she jumped back in surprise. The glass slid up and her peered at her.

"Allison?"