Copyright 2013 - Lawrence Dagstine
Cover Art Copyright 2012 - Bob Veon
All Rights Reserved
This story is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this story are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, either living or dead, are purely coincidental. No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without permission from the author.
I realized I was going to die, but I wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t remember much, but it seemed painless, even tolerable. I tried to get my legs underneath me, but they wouldn’t go. I fought slipping off into unconsciousness. Overhead I could make out leaves and branches, swaying in the wind. Through blurry eyes I saw tall and thin trees, but recognizing anything else was difficult. For a brief moment my face felt numb, a sort of hot and cold tingling sensation. As if small insects were making a path across the gutters that ran from my mouth to my cheekbones. I was pretty deep. I rolled over and over in the moist dirt, looking for the direction of the sun up above. It would give me an idea what time of the day it was. But I couldn’t find it, and I suddenly found myself running out of breath. How long had I been here? It seemed like hours, and I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer. What a horrible way to die. They didn’t even fill the damn thing in, whoever they were. Then I relaxed my throat muscles, my head came free of the claylike soil, and I yelled for help as loudly as I could.