I saw nothing. Just an inky blackness, never-ending.
The only thing I could smell was the overpowering stench of dirt.
I felt cramped, I was clearly in some sort of a wooden box.
My ears detected nothing, for there were no birds, nor winds nor people.
And my tounge tasted... something. Stale and unappreciable, I did not enjoy the taste, but then, I enjoyed little of my situation.
Most pressing of all was that I could not remember. Who I was, where I came from, What I meant. All of it, gone. Dust in the scathing, roaring wind of nonexistence. My thoughts traveled at a snail's pace, yer they felt like a blisteringly fast train. And I could not breathe.
I COULD NOT BREATHE! My lungs felt like bursting and in my panic I thrashed about my limbs as best I could within the tiny little box. It felt rotted near my feat, soft. I kicked it harder! Dust fell through, choking my lungs with fine particulate. But still the hole was hope.
Hope of escape.
Hope of freedom!
HOPE OF LIFE!
But I was still suffocating.
All this effort, it tired me out. Made me breathe. Faster. Shallower. Emptier.
I was going to die.
I knew it.
This coffin knew it.
The whole world would have known it, were it that the world had cared.
I did not see stars, like I had been told I would.
And I did not see darkness, for the black maw of death was already there.
I WAS GOING TO DIE!
I WAS going to die!
I was going to die!
I was going to die.
I was going to die.
I was going to die.
I was going-
NO!
I refused to die like this!
I would not die alone!
I would not die in the dark!
I would not die forgotten!
I WOULD SURVIVE!
I screamed and kicked and raged, no regards for the air it consumed, for the dirt that shook down on me. My legs fought and my arms rent, and even my very soul would not lay calm. It shone, burned with a light brighter and whiter than I had ever seen, and it exploded outwards sending detritus and debris flying.
The coffin was obliterated. The dirt had been torn from its place and the shattered moon now cast it's beams upon my face. It burned my eyes but still I opened them, glad to be rid of the all encompassing dark.
Even from the crater I was in and even with the pain in my eyes I could see the surrounding forests clearly. The trees were pine, and green. The air was hot. It must have been summer. I was sweltering.
I looked down and saw why. I was in a suit. Black slacks. Black button up undershirt. Black dress shoes. Black jacket. Everything was black, and I hated that color. Anything was much better. Like my tie. It was sky blue. It was my favorite tie.
Wait, my favorite tie? Why? Did I like blue that much? Sure it wasn't as bad as black, but it was hardly my favorite. Maybe... Maybe my father had worn it!
My head suddenly felt like it was splitting. I collapsed, my legs already weak. My father, who was he? He was tall. Yes, very tall. And so broad shouldered. And... Blonde? Was my dad blonde? I seemed to be blonde, but that was no magnet to my identity, much less dad's.
It hurt my head just to think about it, so I didn't. Instead, I focused on what was around me. On staying alive.
Good. My head didn't hurt as much now. But it was still cold. So cold. I needed warmth. And the best thing for warmth was fire.
I needed something that would burn. Grass burned! Suits burned! Flesh burned!
Wait, where did that thought come from. C'mon J- you can't burn your own flesh.
J! That must be my name. But just the letter J sounds stupid. I think I'll change my name. But to what? I know! Jay! Jay is a great name! Of course it's a great name! It is my name after all!
But not even a new name makes me feel warm, and I've already decided not to burn my flesh. So what to burn? I know, the pine trees. Pine wood burns really well because of the sap, my mothe-.
PAIN! Blinding, agonizing pain. WHO IS SHE!? WHO IS MY MOTHER!?
No, Jay. Do not think. Thinking equals pain. Pain equals suffering. Suffering equals anger, anger equals hate and mothe-
STOP!
No more thinking. Just warmth. Just fire. Just pine.
I leapt up, ignoring the pain in my head. I rushed to the nearest tree. Tore at it. Clawed off the bark and out the sap. My hands were sappy, but so was the wood.
Now I just needed flint. And maybe some steel. Not stainless though. Stainless was bad for fires.
There, that rock, lying in the grass and half covered in dirt looked flinty.
I grabbed it. Now for steel. But there was no steel.
No steel.
No steel for me.
No steel for me.
No ste-
There! Steel. It glistened, shiny. A little knife. I grabbed it.
I layed the pine in a little pile in the center of the crater. Then I struck the knife and the rock, hoping it was good.
It was sparking!
Spark! Spark! Spark!
But the wood would not burn.
I needed something smaller. The pine needles!
I jumped, ran to the edge of the clearing, took the needles.
They were prickly but my soul wouldn't let them hurt me. My soul burned too bright for them to hurt me. They were too afraid.
Good.
The little pine needles should be afraid. I would burn them. And then I would listen to their dying wails as they ignited the sap.
My sap!
I put the needles on the fire.
Struck the flint again.
spark! Spark! Spark! Spar-
FIRE!
Only just a tiny flame. So I blew on it. Gently, very gently. And the sap ignited! The bark burned. The smell was lovely.
I was warm.
LINE BREAK
My name was Jaune. Not Jay. Jaune.
I only realized that once I felt warm. Safe. And it frightened me.
Who was Jay? Maybe I'll never know. But with my name came more revelations.
In my pocket, the one inside my suit jacket, I found a pocket watch. Just looking at it, I could feel my thoughts solidify, evolve. No longer was I some raving lunatic. Now I could think. Now I could plan. All because of the little pocket watch.
It was a beautiful watch. The front had the praises visage of a large Bass fish, water dripping off its scales as it jumped above the water. The whole thing had a complete sheen to it, brilliant and entrancing. There was no chain, but I'm sure that if there was it would also be copper. The inside was a standard watch face with two hands and printed Roman numerals. It was 2:47 in the morning now.
And the knife that I had picked up was sitting right next to me. It was a memorial knife. I knew that one religion would bury their dead with them or use them as part of their grave markers. Ultimatists, they were called. They believed that all those who lived good lives would become the ultimate being of the very own universe upon death, until their universe ended and they were reincarnated in someone else's universe.
Had I been an ultimatist? Was my family? Who even is my family?
I don't know. I know I had a father. And a mother. And sisters. But I don't know anything else.
I stopped trying to think of my family. It wouldn't help me right now. I needed sleep, so I laid down in the crater, and with the dancing shadows of the firelight, I slowly drifted to sleep.
Chapter end.
Hey guys and gals, this is squeaky floorboard. As this is my first story, critique is appreciated. Thanks for giving this a try and if some of this chapter left you confused with the perspective and description, then it is intentional. Still, any advice is welcome.
Signing off,
Squeaky floorboard.
