I once thought I was buried alive, but surely I was only dreaming; but then when my eyes opened onto pitch night, I woke myself up by screaming. I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one came for me; they thought me dead, it was far too late, there would be no rescue for me. It was cold down there and I was afraid and there was no room in the dark for me; I was buried deep, it was far too late and there was no more air to breathe.
I dug my way out, my fear fading fast, like the warmth of my own piss; my fingers reached up into the cold, dark night and it was an eternity from that moment to this. Too long I was down there, it's far too late - though I'm grateful to be free; and I'm standing in the cold, dark night, a child running towards me. She runs through me as though I were no more substantial than her breath and I wonder; how long was I buried alive, how long a ghost, ignorant of her own death?
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