#nro.5

He can feel the desperation rise in his chest like a led weight that’s slowly being pressed on top of him. There’s nothing left to do anymore, he can’t get out. He’s tried everything possible already, all scenarios and all slim hopes used up. 

There’s no magic lever, no way to spring open the casket roof, no hidden key to safety under the white satin pillow or the linings made out of similar fabric. He’s ripped them all apart the best he can in the enclosed space, only to come up empty.

They’ve removed all his weapons, his boots and even his belt so he only has his hands to use and he knows the wood of a casket is hard and unyielding. His bruised knuckles and broken fingernails know that too, having pounded and scratched at the wood paneling since he woke up and understood where he was. There is no way he can manually break the wood.  

If he could, Javier would scream but his voice is too broken and his throat to tired from all the yelling already. It hurts to swallow, though that is the least of his worries. It’s going to burn a lot more soon if he can’t miraculously cheat death this time.  

The reality and graveness of the situation settles in and Javier loses the final battle to the panic; his eyes burning and lungs squeezing painfully as he battles the nausea rising up in his oesophagus. He can feel the tremors wrack his body and his brain refusing to accept what is inevitable. But he forces himself to face the music.  

He is buried alive, in a casket that’s not only his prison but will soon become his actual grave since there is no way out with the limited time he has left on this earth. Because while the casket might hold, he won't. The air running out in the enclosed space will take him to oblivion soon. 

I’m sorry, papa, he thinks, hands pressed to his eyes, the wetness on his face mingling with sweat and the blood from his knuckles. I’m sorry your son didn’t make it home.