Buried alive

Usually she didn't mind darkness or silence. She lived and moved and breathed in these elements. Breathe, that was the word. She could not breathe. The silence and darkness clung to her body like a painfully tight metal corset.

Je ne peux pas respirer.The thought rang in her ears like a scream without the smallest whisper escaping her lips. The smell of raw earth blended with the moldy smell from the old coffin she was trapped in almost drove her insane. Buried alive. Morticia closed her eyes. Red and yellow dots danced before her vision. If she screamed, would he hear her? Probably not. She was six foot under now, doomed to fight the panic alone. She breathed in slowly through her nose, her rib cage pushing against the invisible corset surrounding her body, woven out of the terror of abandonment.

- Mon Cher-she exhaled with a desperate, little whisper- Mon Cher, s'il vous plaît!

The seconds crawled over her body like worms on a decaying corpse. But she wasn't dead. Not yet. Morticia tried to swallow but managed only a dry contraction in her throat. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Most of the time her pulse was no more noticeable than a lazy, dark midwinter stream covered under a layer of ice and snow. But now her heart seemed to beat it's way out of her chest. Not in that fun and delightful way caused by her dear husbands somewhat demonic lovemaking but in a scary I'm-totally-loosing-control kind of way.

She lifted her delicate hands, each fingernail filed into a sharp claw, the flawless red nail polish invisible in the infinite darkness of the coffin. His dear face flashed before her vision: Dark eyes shone and glimmered in a way they only did when they looked at her. His mustache wiggled cheerfully. He was laughing. She tried to grasp the beautiful vision with her hands, her heart begging for him to free her. Morticia had reached the very limit of her self control. That didn't happen very often to put it mildly. This was her very first time to be buried alive, and she was scared beyond how she liked to be scared. Was it also the last? Was she really going to die like this?

Her nails scratched the moldy wood of the coffin lid above her face. A few of them broke and the pain jolted from her fingers and up her arms causing her to gasp for air only to find there was none left.

Morticia felt cold waves washing over her, dragging her down. It occurred to her that she was drowning in the ocean instead of suffocating in a coffin. What difference did it make? Either way, she was dying alone without Gomez. Her soul dreaded his absence more than her lungs feared the lack of oxygen. Light after light would shut down in her brain. But her love for him would be the very last candle that blew out before she surrendered into oblivion.

When we die, we die together.

"Until death do us part" was let out from their vows. She got married in a black dress, a gorgeous one, lavishly decorated with precious stones, black pearls and raven feathers. She was buried in a much simpler, yet very elegant dress: Black silk almost as fine as spider web buttoned all the way down with small emeralds shaped into dragonflies.

Morticia imagined the fabric of her dress melting into her decaying skin, the pale, almost radiant skin which still ran so smoothly over her bones and curves. We were supposed to be rotting together,her dying heart cried out. The darkness gave no answer. And then she added to the vanishing stream of consciousness flowing through her oxygen deprived brain: This is really all my fault.