You Saw Water

You Saw Water:

This makeshift coffin that is your new home—you have to ask yourself, “How did I end up being buried alive?” There is an emotion beyond fear and the words escape you. This coffin drowns all pride that seared itself into your vanity—consuming your ego death and drowning it in a hateful black inferno. The smell of salt permeates the space around you; there is nothing left—not even the memories of your youth. Your life does not flash before your eyes, you are not blinded by a brilliant angelic light rather there is nothing but a void that waits still and lifeless. Your loving mother does not come to grasp your dying hand; there is no prospect of dying in the arms of your wife. Your children will never know where you are buried; they will never know how painful their father’s death was. There is a pit of despair, and the air is thick and coarse; your lungs are filled with the wretchedness that surrounds. Its blackness devastates you as you peer into its nakedness. Sickness fills your stomach as a hoard of your fears begin to crawl up from the depths of the soul; you become paralyzed by the terrors of death. Scratching your story into the lid of your grave, your eyes fill with tears—a salty river from both eyes is created. Blackness surrounds you; it fills the coffin with the pain of failure and hardship. What coffin could hold you? Your rivers fill that little wooden box with water; flowing through your tears, a frog jumps from a place unknown, a catfish swims along your wrist. All to your surprise maggots do not squirm through the dirt; there are no bugs that crawl into your dying body. The soil becomes mud as your home is now filled with muddy water. You close your eyes to sleep, slowly dying, there is an ocean around you—an ocean of darkness. There was no flashing light; there was only water.