(Buck)
Like a tiger, Buck paced, following the flow of the box, trailing his fingers along the walls. He'd done it multiple times, more for lack of anything better to do, and also to keep his circulation going, acutely aware of the trouble blood clots caused. There was also perhaps an underlying current of anxiety, building with each passing hour, if he had any way of telling when an hour passed. How many days have gone by? Two? Three? A week? Are they still looking for me? Is anyone looking for me? Sweat coated his skin, though he wasn't sure if it was because the box was stifling or because of the low grade fever he was surely suffering. Infection is gonna kill me. Even if they find me it'll be too late at this rate.
A vent in the ceiling allowed for the flow of oxygen, and he tried yelling as loud as he could with hopes a passerby might hear him. But all he managed to do was make himself hoarse, and the vent gave no clue as to where he was, nothing visible on the other end. There was definitely a door, one that refused to budge.
Buck kicked at the stupid thing.
His energy was waning, his resolve losing ground and taking hope with it.
I'm tired of being alone with my thoughts. All I do is replay the highlights of my life, and question my regrets. How might I have done things differently? He even entertained what else he might have done with his life had he skipped out on coming to California. Who might I be then? Who might have captured my heart?
"This isn't fair," he muttered, leaning against the door, forehead to the metal. He banged a fist against it. "Not fair in the least. Why me? Why the fuck did you choose me?" he said, his voice rising with each word. Anger took hold of Buck and he attacked the door, hitting it with the palms of his hands, kicking at it, raging. "I don't want to die in here!" Tears burned his eyes, mingling with the sweat on his cheeks. "Do you hear me? I don't want to die in here! Please! Let me out. Just let me out."
Something in his side tore, giving 'way, and a river of warm blood seeped out.
"Fuck."
Leaving the door, Buck shuffled back to his sitting spot, slowly sinking to the floor, one hand on his side. Slick crimson rivulets passed between his fingers. Now you've gone and done it. So much for not wanting to die in here. Way to go, dumbass. Desperate to staunch the flow, Buck wiggled out of his t-shirt, drooling a bit at the piercing pain, and tugged it around his midsection, tying the top and bottom together as tightly as possible. Either this works or…
"I die."
Buck rested his head against the wall, gaze cast upward.
"Please," he pleaded, "I don't want to die in here."