Thread by @Tales4rmdHearth

Something was wrong. He knew it. Something was off. He could feel it. The air smelt different...No, it didn't smell. It hung. It hung there thick and heavy like it didn't exactly exist. Why is it so dark? He wondered as he craned his neck to look at his girlfriend whom

he was so sure was lying beside him. Dark. Everywhere was dark. He tried to move his hand but met a barrier.
Panic set in. His mind quickly made a calculation; Heavy air or lack of it, darkness and a barrier.
HE WAS LOCKED IN A BOX.
At this realization, he muttered 'no, no, no!'

and clawed the wood above him. He quickly noted that the box was narrow because he couldn't move his hands on his sides but he noticed he could lift it to push the wooden box lid above him.
It isn't a standard casket, he thought as he resumed clawing and pushing the box lid.

'I'm not buried. There is no way I'm buried alive,' he muttered. Hot tears leaked from his eyes as he fought for air. Fearing suffocation, he began to frantically kick and punch on the lid. He even began to scream in hopes that someone out there would hear him.

He screamed and cried and asked God to help him, to forgive him, to give him a second chance. He cried and called out for his father. At this point he wished the stories about guardian spirits was real. His late father ought to be his. That's the least he should do for his

son whom he left behind in the world at the age of 10.
No, he didn't want to die like a fowl. He tried to remember his day. Where had he gone to? Was he kidnapped from his house? Could this be a prank? How did he fall into the hands of ritualists? It must be ritualists.

He started to scream anew when he imagined an old dirty native doctor waiting to cut him up after he had suffocated.

Then he heard it. A sound. A sound from somewhere... up. He stilled and tried to listen carefully.
Whatever it was, was low but rhythmic. If I can hear it, then

I'm not buried, he thought. To him it also meant the possibility of being heard. The hope of survival gave him strength and he began to pound and punch the box lid.
Something was wrong. No, not like something wasn't wrong before. Something was 'more' wrong.

Then it hit him. The sound above had a pattern. He stopped all movement and lifted his head to listen better.
Lord! It was a chant. No, chants from a crowd.
He was a sacrifice. He was sorrounded. He heard it now. The drums. The hums and rhythm of the voices.

Suddenly, the box moved. No! More like it was pushed and then he felt it descend as the voices chanted and hummed as if in a frenzy. This time around he became hysterical as he screamed, punched and kicked the lid. He could feel the bruises on his hands and bare feet. He knew he

was bleeding but he had no care. He only wanted to live;to be let out. A soft familiar laughter rang out in the darkness but he was too distraught to place it. For some weird reason, Uma Thurman came to his mind. The scene where she was buried alive in Kill Bill came unbidden

to him. This made him cry more than anything because he wished he could borrow her skills and save himself. Alas life couldn't imitate art in this situation.
He felt the box in which he was in, drop and he braced for its impact with the bottom of his grave... but it never came.

It was then that it dawned on him that he was falling... or rather the box was falling and falling like it had been dropped in a black hole.
Resigned to his imminent death, he shut his eyes. It was then that he remembered.

He remembered his girlfriend 's face hovering over his with a smile. Yes, she was the last person he had...The box he was in finally landed on solid ground.
THUMP!

'Jesus! What is wrong with you? Are you okay?' In confusion, he watched his concerned girlfriend rush over to him

as he lay on the cold tiles with a hurting elbow. He was sure he broke it when he fell off the couch he had been sleeping on.
He shook his head as if he was trying to shake off cobwebs. As his girlfriend tried to help him stand, he glanced at the TV and saw she had been

watching Kill Bill:2.
As he settled back on the couch, he asked her, 'Did you watch any other movie before this one playing?'
His girlfriend peered at his face as if to ascertain that he didnt get an internal injury in his head when he fell off the couch.

'Yes, a Nigerian horror ritual movie. It's old though... Why do you ask? ' she enquired.

'Nothing. I think I may have heard it in the background as I slept. Just wanted to be sure I didn't dream it,' he responded with a shrug.
'Okay o. Please don't scare me like that again.

The way you fell from the couch eh...Na wa o.'
He shrugged off her statement. There was no way he was going to let her know of his dream.

As he laid back on the couch, his girlfriend took a peak at him and smiled to herself.
Mission 1 had been accomplished. His soul was next.

#FictionAt9pm

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