Silent Creed

11

There was no sound. The world had come to a screeching halt and so had he. Everything quieted, unplugged and muffled. Everything except for the throbbing of his heartbeat.

Creed opened his eyes to blackness with patches of gray. He strained to loosen his fingers and dig away grime from his face, from his eyes. He blinked. Tried to focus. Still saw only blackness with patches of gray. Maybe like walking into an unlit room, he needed to wait for his eyes to adjust. He told himself to be patient.

The smell of musty earth already filled his lungs. A sharp stabbing pain kept his breaths shallow and careful when he wanted to gulp air. What little air there was was dense and thick with moisture, making it difficult to breathe. He could taste wet dirt, gravel, and grit on his tongue and between his teeth and cheek. He wanted to spit but stopped himself. Instead, he dug his finger into his mouth, sweeping then pinching and pulling out what didn’t belong. With effort he tried to free his arm. He wrenched it and twisted his wrist to loosen the stranglehold around him.

His legs were pinned. His arms were trapped against his chest. He tried to dig in his elbows and push himself up. His backpack remained in place and he heard crunching. All he was doing was smashing the contents of his backpack against the mud, squeezing out what little air existed around him. Weight pressed against him in all directions.

Was the mud already hardening? How many minutes? How many seconds before the shell surrounding him became as hard as concrete?

His eyes should have had enough time to adjust, yet they still showed him nothing more than the dark, gray space inches in front of him. He couldn’t let himself panic. There had to be a way to dig out.

He drew measured breaths. Anxiety made you breathe more rapidly and he needed to stay calm. He could do this, but only if he remained calm. The palms of his hands were close to his face. He could see the shadows of his fingers when he wiggled them. Again, he swiped dirt and sludge away from his face. In the space in front of him, he clawed to create an air pocket. Crumbles fell away.

He stopped.

He poked again and watched more pieces fall. They were falling away from him. He needed to be certain. Clawed some more, and again the dirt didn’t hit him in the face.

Gravity never lied.

The realization made his heartbeat start to gallop. Panic gnawed its way into his gut. Not only was he buried alive, he was lying facedown. Any attempt to dig his way out just went from difficult to impossible.