Can't breath.the pain in his chest.wait, there is no more pain.he looks
down but all he sees is darkness.
Where is he? His hands reach out, feeling along the contours of where he was. Their was no way out. He tried to push out but felt only a minor budge. How did he get here? His memory slowly came back to him of what had happened just before he had blacked out.
.walking down the street. .his basketball falling out of his hand. .looking both ways before going to get it. .a speeding car coming at him from out of nowhere, going faster than he knows it should. .the car hitting him, his body being flung several feet in the air before landing on a nearby car, cracking the windshield and his skull. .the last image he remembered before closing his eyes were of his mom's loving tears falling down on him. He had started to cry to, he doesn't remember why, and heard her say 'I love you' before his vision went dark.
Had he died? That couldn't have happened. He wouldn't be here now if he was.
He pushed again, trying to get out, but it still went nowhere. He started to yell at the top of his lungs.
"HELP!!! HELP!!! I CAN'T GET OUT!!! PLEASE HELP!!!".
* * * * *
Jason Monroe's life is nothing close to how he had imagined it. He lives a life of solitude, a poor man in the corner of the graveyard he calls home. He didn't use to be like this, an honors student in high school back in the 70's. Drugs and free sex changed his perspective on life, away from a major in academics to working at a local fast food diner just to pay for the heroine one of his ex's got him on.
Now, almost 20 years later, here was his "fruitful" life: begging for spare change, eating maybe once every two days, his family disowning him, and going nowhere fast.
He has pondered suicide, ending his miserable existence and hoping in his next lifetime he gets a chance to make his life better, more meaningful.
He lays down on a nearby grave, one of several beds that have no weeds growing near it. The grass is soft, was mowed only last week by the groundskeeper who knows he is here and is the major contributor for his food supply. Looking up at the sky, the stars are out tonight. He makes out the Big Dipper, the Little one as well, and is working on the Hercules constellation when he hears a muffling sound.
Sitting up, he tries to find out what that noise is. It's coming from somewhere close, but he can't see anyone.
"Hey!!! Who's there?" he yells into the darkness. Silence is his only answer.
He thought he had been imagining it when he hears it again. He jumps up, asking to the night again "Who's there???" and knows that he won't get an answer again. The muffling sound comes again, and Jason is wondering if the heroine withdrawal is kicking back in. He remembers several years ago when this had first happened, he was.
Memories were put on hold by a birds caw over his head. He looked up, saw a black bird swoop over his head and land on a tombstone two ahead of where he was laying at. A raven? A crow? Jason wasn't sure as he slowly approached the bird. It looked at him the whole time, not understanding what was going on tonight. As he got closer to the bird, the muffling he had earlier got a little bit louder, clearer. He thought he made out the word.
"Help?" he softly said. Why would someone being saying that unless they were.
Jason dropped to his knees, placed his ear to the ground and heard it clearer. Despite six feet of dirt he heard it all. He began to dig, using his hands to tear out the grass and get to the dirt underneath. It had rained a couple of days ago, and though the grass was dry the dirt underneath was still moist, easy to remove. After several minutes of digging he felt his fingers strike a hard object. Pushing the remaining dirt aside he tried to lift up the lid but couldn't. There was still a lot of dirt covering the coffin's lid, and this wasn't one of those that opened up halfway.
Jason jumped out and ran to where he keeps his normal home, a break in the inner wall where rain doesn't get to on the stormier days. Inside was miscellaneous trash he felt was important enough to keep around. In the back was a piece of granite from a tombstone that was replaced several months ago. It was about a foot long with a pointy edge on it. He grabbed it and ran back to the coffin, jumped in, and yelled down "Watch out, I'm going to break it open!!!"
Lifting the piece of rock above his head he slammed it against the coffin head, and when he saw it bend in he repeatedly hit at it until he saw a hole big enough to slip his hands into. He pulled up with all his might, feeling the corners of the lid give way some, then pulled more. The force by which he was pulling ended up ripping off the lid, throwing his body back and out of the hole he had dug up. He banged his head on a headstone, and when the stars fiddled away, he looked up and towards the coffin.
A head was sticking out, and after a moment he could see the person in the moonlight. It was a little boy. He couldn't be any older than seven, eight the most, white, dressed in a tuxedo. The boy looked in his direction, then came out of the grave and towards Jason.
Scared, Jason moved away, crawling backwards away from him until his back hit a tombstone. The boy came towards him, his hand extended out. Jason tried to look away, but out of fear he continued looking forwards. He thought it was a ghost, an apparition coming to haunt him for his awful past.
* * * * *
It was weird, one moment he was yelling at the top of his lungs, then next he heard someone coming to help him. It wasn't until the roof of where he was came off that Tom knew where he was. He knew that he had died when that car had hit him, knew that his mothers tears on him meant that he had died. And though only eight years old, he knew he had been brought back, maybe by the crow that rested on his tombstone, for some reason. Now he just needed to find out why.
Where is he? His hands reach out, feeling along the contours of where he was. Their was no way out. He tried to push out but felt only a minor budge. How did he get here? His memory slowly came back to him of what had happened just before he had blacked out.
.walking down the street. .his basketball falling out of his hand. .looking both ways before going to get it. .a speeding car coming at him from out of nowhere, going faster than he knows it should. .the car hitting him, his body being flung several feet in the air before landing on a nearby car, cracking the windshield and his skull. .the last image he remembered before closing his eyes were of his mom's loving tears falling down on him. He had started to cry to, he doesn't remember why, and heard her say 'I love you' before his vision went dark.
Had he died? That couldn't have happened. He wouldn't be here now if he was.
He pushed again, trying to get out, but it still went nowhere. He started to yell at the top of his lungs.
"HELP!!! HELP!!! I CAN'T GET OUT!!! PLEASE HELP!!!".
* * * * *
Jason Monroe's life is nothing close to how he had imagined it. He lives a life of solitude, a poor man in the corner of the graveyard he calls home. He didn't use to be like this, an honors student in high school back in the 70's. Drugs and free sex changed his perspective on life, away from a major in academics to working at a local fast food diner just to pay for the heroine one of his ex's got him on.
Now, almost 20 years later, here was his "fruitful" life: begging for spare change, eating maybe once every two days, his family disowning him, and going nowhere fast.
He has pondered suicide, ending his miserable existence and hoping in his next lifetime he gets a chance to make his life better, more meaningful.
He lays down on a nearby grave, one of several beds that have no weeds growing near it. The grass is soft, was mowed only last week by the groundskeeper who knows he is here and is the major contributor for his food supply. Looking up at the sky, the stars are out tonight. He makes out the Big Dipper, the Little one as well, and is working on the Hercules constellation when he hears a muffling sound.
Sitting up, he tries to find out what that noise is. It's coming from somewhere close, but he can't see anyone.
"Hey!!! Who's there?" he yells into the darkness. Silence is his only answer.
He thought he had been imagining it when he hears it again. He jumps up, asking to the night again "Who's there???" and knows that he won't get an answer again. The muffling sound comes again, and Jason is wondering if the heroine withdrawal is kicking back in. He remembers several years ago when this had first happened, he was.
Memories were put on hold by a birds caw over his head. He looked up, saw a black bird swoop over his head and land on a tombstone two ahead of where he was laying at. A raven? A crow? Jason wasn't sure as he slowly approached the bird. It looked at him the whole time, not understanding what was going on tonight. As he got closer to the bird, the muffling he had earlier got a little bit louder, clearer. He thought he made out the word.
"Help?" he softly said. Why would someone being saying that unless they were.
Jason dropped to his knees, placed his ear to the ground and heard it clearer. Despite six feet of dirt he heard it all. He began to dig, using his hands to tear out the grass and get to the dirt underneath. It had rained a couple of days ago, and though the grass was dry the dirt underneath was still moist, easy to remove. After several minutes of digging he felt his fingers strike a hard object. Pushing the remaining dirt aside he tried to lift up the lid but couldn't. There was still a lot of dirt covering the coffin's lid, and this wasn't one of those that opened up halfway.
Jason jumped out and ran to where he keeps his normal home, a break in the inner wall where rain doesn't get to on the stormier days. Inside was miscellaneous trash he felt was important enough to keep around. In the back was a piece of granite from a tombstone that was replaced several months ago. It was about a foot long with a pointy edge on it. He grabbed it and ran back to the coffin, jumped in, and yelled down "Watch out, I'm going to break it open!!!"
Lifting the piece of rock above his head he slammed it against the coffin head, and when he saw it bend in he repeatedly hit at it until he saw a hole big enough to slip his hands into. He pulled up with all his might, feeling the corners of the lid give way some, then pulled more. The force by which he was pulling ended up ripping off the lid, throwing his body back and out of the hole he had dug up. He banged his head on a headstone, and when the stars fiddled away, he looked up and towards the coffin.
A head was sticking out, and after a moment he could see the person in the moonlight. It was a little boy. He couldn't be any older than seven, eight the most, white, dressed in a tuxedo. The boy looked in his direction, then came out of the grave and towards Jason.
Scared, Jason moved away, crawling backwards away from him until his back hit a tombstone. The boy came towards him, his hand extended out. Jason tried to look away, but out of fear he continued looking forwards. He thought it was a ghost, an apparition coming to haunt him for his awful past.
* * * * *
It was weird, one moment he was yelling at the top of his lungs, then next he heard someone coming to help him. It wasn't until the roof of where he was came off that Tom knew where he was. He knew that he had died when that car had hit him, knew that his mothers tears on him meant that he had died. And though only eight years old, he knew he had been brought back, maybe by the crow that rested on his tombstone, for some reason. Now he just needed to find out why.