Death is Never My End

          It always happened the same way.

         The scream tore up and out of me like lava bursting from a dormant volcano, leaving my trachea raw and painful as I struggled to comprehend my predicament. The darkness was all consuming. It was not the black that comes with nighttime, but the nothingness that overwhelms a person when they are enclosed within six walls. The memory of my own cry reverberated through my chest as I realized the ringing in my ears. The seconds ticked by and the ringing subsided, I heard my own breath, I noticed the subtle creak of wood around me, I recognized the sound of the earth shifting slightly above my body, the worms crawling in and the worms crawling out. My inhalations became ragged as my mind slowly remembered the truth of my existence. I forced a sigh and started the process of digging out of my own grave.
         My body was slow to move as usual, but eventually my fingers gripped the satin ceiling of my coffin, and I began to tear as aggressively as my recently deceased body would allow. It can be quite the shit show. This time would be no different. I could feel the large tufts of cotton fall from the makeshift sky, landing gently on my face as I attempted to shred through to the wooden lid. I kept my eyes closed and my breathing shallow as I worked at my task, attempting to focus only on getting out and not the thin air surrounding my newly inflated lungs.
         My fingernails scratched against the hard ceiling, and I stopped my frantic ripping. As my sluggish brain crept up to pace with the rest of my body, I felt a familiarity settle over me as my fingers contacted a large metal clasp at the edge of the coffin’s lid. Now, this was the hard part. Taking the deepest breath I could muster in such circumstances, I unclasped the improvised door in the lid of the coffin and let the heavy soil fall down and around me. The smell of Earth flooded my senses. The wet, heavy dirt fell into my mouth and over my chest, almost knocking the rest of my breath from my body but I held onto it tightly, not willing to let myself be stuck here to die again and again like so many times before.
         I was digging. Taking fistfuls of soil and rock and mud and pushing it down further into the box my body currently occupied, attempting to push myself up and out and closer to the surface of the Earth. It didn’t matter how many times I had done it before; each moment was torture. Each moment felt like dying again but I couldn’t stop, I wouldn’t stop. Without sight, without breath, I continued to pull my body further towards the exterior of the Earth as if swimming to breach the ocean’s surface.
Twenty minutes? Thirty? Who knows how long I pushed and pulled, until the tips of my fingers on my right hand felt… nothing? Just air! My hand broke the surface, and my brain was able to register the cool night above me. This renewed my desires once more as I continued to work my way through the muck and mire. Both hands, my elbows, then my head, shoulders, soon enough I was able to use both my arms to pull the rest of my body up and out. With a noise that was a mixture between a scream and a grunt, my body landed with a thud onto the moist ground.
         I lie there panting for some time, taking in large gulps of fresh air because my life depended on it. My skin prickled at the crisp air of the night, but I couldn’t yet move from my position. I was bound by exhaustion and the thought that I could have had to start all over again. Instead, I was out. I was living again. My face broke into a smile, dirt and clay plastered to every inch of me. A blubbering laughter escaped my lips, while my heart fill with relief.
         I opened my eyes slowly, letting the blurry landscape fill my head. I began blinking reflexively, attempting to improve my sight, but already knowing it would take some time before I could see properly again. Compared to the darkness of a coffin, the moon had lit up the surrounding cemetery with utter radiance. I started to make out headstones and mausoleums littered about the damp grass. I pressed my hands down on either side of my ribcage and pulled my rubbery legs underneath me, sitting up. Regret filled me as quickly as the bile rose, my stomach clenched, and I retched immediately. I spit onto the ground, wiping my hand over my mouth and found comfort in a seated position, my back rounded over, my knees bent, my head resting on my knees. My long auburn hair was mostly mud at this point, but it still managed to fall forward stiffly over my face in a large nest of twigs and pebbles. I steadied my breath, lengthened my inhales and exhales, and focused on the place inside the center of my chest, finding quiet there.
         After preparing myself mentally, I decided to attempt my feet. I pushed myself into a squat before slowly raising my body up to my full height. It didn’t feel right. My back was slightly hunched and after many attempts I decided taking any steps was still out of the question. I sat back down onto my bottom, crossed my legs this time and fell into a restless meditation, berating myself each time my mind wandered to the pain in my body or the thoughts of what I had just been through.
         I was wearing an ugly black frock, with sequins lining the neckline and lace falling over my fingertips at the wrist. I spit more dirt back onto the ground where it came from and attempted to swallow down any leftover crunchiness around my teeth. My life sure was a luxury. Dark script danced along my collarbone, inked forever into my skin. Non sum qualis eram.
         When I heard a twig crack in the distance, the sound shot into my brain like fireworks, but I didn’t move a muscle. I sat there in stillness listening, understanding there was little I could even do to defend myself. Silence followed for a few moments before I heard the angry crunch of heavy boots on dead leaves and the subtle sweep of a leather duster whispering across the reaching blades of grass. The boots stopped their crunching directly behind me but at this point, I had no reason to run.
         “Hello, Malcolm.”
         “How are you, Marla?”
         I scoffed without turning to look at him, “ Fucking fantastic as always.”
         I could feel the smirk spread across his lips.
         “Glad to hear it. I only wanted to check in after your most current ordeal.”
         “My ordeal?” I said incredulously and when he didn’t bother to respond to me, I turned to him and stood, surprising myself as I kept my balance walking closer to him. He was much taller than I was, which wasn’t saying much seeing as I barely reached five feet.
         “Seems to me you could have grabbed a shovel and helped a poor girl out.” I said, narrowing my green eyes at him and jabbing him in the chest with a long, slender finger.
         “You know I can’t do that.” The smirk fell from his lips, a forlorn expression replacing it.
         I rolled my eyes. I had heard it too many times before.
         “The latch in the roof has proven useful, has it not?’
         “Oh yes, dear me, thank the heavens for the damn latch,” I said, failing to let go of the sarcasm. He only shrugged.
         “Why so soon? Normally, you wouldn’t come sauntering into my life for a few more days.” I asked, genuinely curious.
         “So observant you are, dear girl.” He pushed his hand over his freshly shaven head before letting it come to rest back by his side. A myriad of tattoos spiraled across his skull, black snakes entangling each other, they reached down his neck and disappeared underneath the collar of his duster. His eyes twinkled darkly, reminding me, with a chill, of the deep, dark nothingness I had recently crawled out of.
         “Oh c’mon, tell me, what’s the rush?”
         He hesitated at first but then said, “I wanted to personally bring you your effects this time.” He pulled a large tote from behind him, the same snakes dancing across his scalp embroidered in white on each side of the black bag as it spun lazily from his single outstretched finger.
         I raised my eyebrows at him suspiciously “Why? Usually, some lackey brings me my things.”
         “No particular reason, love. I only wanted to see how you were getting on.”
         “You expect me to believe that? Ya’ll don’t do anything without an ulterior motive.”
         He smiled at me again, this time with a sadness to it, and I realized I wasn’t about to get any information out of him that he wasn’t already willing to give me.
          I grabbed the tote from him. “Whatever, I’m sure your intentions will become clear only too soon.”
          He chuckled at me in agreement. “You are too smart for us all, Marla.”
          I scoffed as I placed the tote on the ground and began to rummage through it.
          “Marla?” I pulled the tote over my shoulder and turned away from him, ready to move on but always damned to listen to his every word.
         “Be proud of yourself. Not many get this far along.”
         I wanted to turn and yell at him, shake my fists in the air, share my fury with him, but I felt as though that was what he wanted. I knew that I wouldn’t get anything out of it, so I moved on continuing my lazy stroll through the moist grass of the dead. To be honest, I was proud. I had every right to be. I was getting closer and closer to the freedom that I deserved. Malcolm had nothing to do with my impending independence, in fact, he and the Ones were the reason I spent every few months or so digging to the Earth’s surface from six feet below. I did not need to let him know of my hatred for all of it, he was sure to know already.
         “Oh, and Marla” I heard him yell, from a distance, “I love the frock.”
         I rolled my eyes and glanced back once more to look upon one of the most complicated but consistent people I had in my life, but there was only loneliness and spirits left behind, whispering wishes while floating above the upturned earth.

Word Count: 1802