Taphophobia- fear of being buried alive
I know it's silly. Papa would never do it to me and when Mama heard it even he laughed it off. But it still scares me. The stories they'd tell during nights around bonfires, the whispered things that their people have done.
"It was a long time ago."
"It was a mistake. Dear he didn't suffer."
They're weak lies. I might look young but I'm far from stupid. You don't just die right away when you're buried alive. You linger, hoping someone will hear your cries and let you out. The dirt becomes mud around your face as the dirt fills your lungs.
You know Mommy's not coming, she can't help from her spot in heaven but, you still end up crying for her with your last breathes.
"Mommy, Mommy I can't breathe." Suddenly I'm awake again, tears streaming down my face as I choke out another sob. Quieter this time so not to wake up Papa. I don't want him or Mama to know so I wipe the thin layer of mud from my cheeks before turning on my night light. It eases my fears if only for a second.
He's trying to tell me something and I'm pretty sure I know what it is. He's still here; he still remembers it all and won't forgive until he knows why. I don't blame him either; we were the same age but the thing I am scared about is that he's lonely and wants me to join him soon.