Afterdeath: Gravedigging


He’s dug far enough with the shovel. Now he’s throwing dirt with his hands, covering the grass, stirring up dust onto the headstones.

The casket is there, still sealed. He thinks it might even be warm to his touch, but he won’t take his gloves off to check.

“I could easily tell you. You wouldn’t have to dig.”

“X-ray vision. Right. It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Wouldn’t trust me?”

“I need to see for myself.”

He stands, almost angelic, looking down at his once friend digging in the graveyard. He could look through the dirt and the coffin, he could use any number of super-powers that he has and have this whole ordeal over within a matter of seconds.

“You’ve hit wood. Need help opening it?”

“I’m in there, aren’t I?”

He reaches up out of the hole and grabs the shovel. This is no time to be delicate.

The shovel slams down, splintering wood. Strike after strike and the wooden cover reveals more.

And there it is…

A corpse. Decomposing. Bone beginning to show through pale skin.

“Is it me?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes, it’s you.”

He looks down at himself. Dead. He can feel the air enter his lungs, the wind around him. He’s alive. But there he is, six feet under. Right there.

“Does this change anything?”

“No. This means nothing. Nothing at all.”

He pulls himself out of his grave. He closes his eyes.

“Nothing changes. It never changes. People live, people die. Me? I just have to find my place in all of this.”

“Some of us have died before, you know. It’s part of who we are.”

“Yeah? I don’t want to be here, I didn’t ask to be alive. I want that to be me. That will be me again.”

He points to the hole. Then walks away.

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About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
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