In the Grave

Why is it so dark?

Why am I so cold?

I’m not freezing, but I feel a chill. It’s odd to describe. I know it’s cold where I am, at least I think I do. The temperature isn’t the problem as much as you might think. I don’t feel the air, but I feel the cold inside me. A dull ache lingering throughout my limbs, coursing through my veins. I don’t need a blanket. It wouldn’t do any good. Besides, it seems I’ve already got one wrapped around me. Not so much a blanket as a sheet.

Why do I have a sheet wrapped around me, covering my face and around my back again?

Why can’t I move?

I don’t feel like doing anything, but if I did, I can’t move. Besides, there’s no place to go. Is there? I don’t think there is. The walls are close. So close. I can feel them barely touching my arms. Walls are at my head and feet, but not a ceiling or a floor. Everything’s switched around on me. The floor is at my back. I lay on the floor, at least I think I do. The ceiling must be above me.

Why is the ceiling mere inches from my face?

Why is it so dark?

My eyes are open. I can see, but there’s no light. No sun. No flame. Nothing. I can see as a cat sees at night, out on a hunt stalking a mouse. I’m not a cat, and I have no mouse. Yet I see, in my own way, in the dark.

Why do I have so many questions?

Why is there no one to respond?

I’m all alone. Cramped, cold, and confused. I should be in a fear induced panic, but I’m not. A relative peace. An eerie calm. Dead silence. Perhaps that’s my answer. The lone, simple answer to all my many questions. I’m nothing more than a corpse in a coffin. Dead. In the grave.

Copyright © Drew Martin 2017