Taphephobia

I laid in bed, my black cat at my feet and surrounded by pillows, staring at the ceiling. I reached under my pillow and pulled out my iPod, connecting my ear buds into the jack. I shoved the buds into my ears and turned my music on full blast. Tonight was one of the few nights my parents were both home together, and I sure as hell did not want to be awake when their obnoxious fucking began.
I rolled over and pushed the buds further into my ears, drowning out everything around me. I yawned, the fatigue beginning to settle in.
My eyes drifted shut as "Buried Alive" by Avenged Sevenfold flowed through my ears...
***
I was running. Running as fast as my legs would carry, my feet smacking the wooden floor. What was I running from, you ask? I was running from the one person I never thought I would have to fear.
My own father.
I ran through the house, sliding around corners, running through doors, my clumsy teenage legs slipping, sliding and tripping over things. Tears streamed down my face, my heart pounding.
My head and body was aching from the blows I had taken earlier, the blows that began this chase. I made the mistake of changing the television channel as he was sawing logs on the living room sofa, drool dripping off his chin and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor.
There was my first mistake.
He awoke almost instantly and began screaming at me in a drunken matter, spit flying form his mouth. He threw things at me. He beat me onto the floor and caught me by my hair. He pulled his hunting knife from his pocket and ran it along my neck, drawing a thin line of blood. He had bound my hands and tied me to a chair. He then left the house, going who knows where. But during his absence, I wiggled my way out of his drunkenly tied knots and ran for my life, only to smash my face into his chest at the front door. I turned and ran the other way.
Adrenaline coursed throughout my body, setting my senses on overload.
I was trembling and sweating in places I had no idea sweat could come from.
"Come here you fucking bitch!!" my father screamed. I ran down the stairs, my dad not far behind me, a knife in his hand and a wild look on his face.
I didn't know what drove him to this. I had never done anything wrong. I had always been a good kid. Good grades, no write ups. I always knew he had something strange up his sleeve. I had some suspicions after a few years ago when my mother suspiciously disappeared and he wasn't one bit upset about it. Not even after they found her in her dead in he car at the bottom of the lake down the road from my house.
I bounded out the front door and out around the house, running into the woods.
My bare feet ached as they hit the cold ground over and over again at a brutal pace as I sprinted for my life. My sides hurt, my lungs screamed for oxygen. The moon loomed above me, casting everything in an eerie silver light.
I kept looking back, but there was nothing behind me. No one bounding after me.
For a split second, I contemplated on stopping. But that's always how the bitches in horror movies got it. I wasn't going to be that girl.
There was my second mistake.
I ran, my breath ragged and painful. I clutched my sides and fixated on the pain.
God I needed to work out more.
All of a sudden, everything went black and I tumbled through darkness. I fell about eight feet I guessed. I stuck my arms out, hoping to catch myself when I hit the ground.
There was my third mistake.
I did in fact catch myself, but with a sickening snap I felt both my wrists break. I cried out, the pain blinding me. I fell over onto my back and looked up at the moon.
Fuck, I was in a hole.
And with two broken wrists, I wasn't getting out anytime soon.
There was a rustle above me and some one was looking down at me.
My father.
He had a shovel in his hand and a wicked glint in his eyes.
"Good night, baby girl." he sneered, a wicked and murderous glint in his eyes.
He disappeared and the next thing I knew, dirt was raining down on my head.
It seemed I was being buried alive.
***
My eyes snapped open, I ripped my head phones out of my ears and basked in the darkness of my room, willing my heart beat to slow and my body to relax.
I was drenched in sweat, my brown hair stuck to my face and my muscles burned like the dream had been real. But I knew it wasn't. I was one hundred percent okay.
My mouth was dry. I decided to get up to get a drink but I noticed something.
My pillows were missing, and there was a cat absent from my feet.
I tried to sit up, but my forehead smashed into a hard surface above me, giving me an instant headache.
I lifted my hands to the surface and ran them along it.
It felt wooden.
"What the fuck?" I said aloud.
I heard a faint noise. A noise that sounded a lot like dirt hitting a wooden surface.
I screamed and clawed at the surface above my head. I began to hyperventilate, quickly turning the earthy air stale. My claustrophobia beginning to set in.
This couldn't be happening.
This had to be a dream.
I pinched myself.
Nothing.
I took a deep breath, but the stale, earthy air just added to the reality.
I pushed against the board, but it didn't budge. I began to scratch at it.
I clawed and clawed, my nails turning bloody, and breaking off, splinters poking into my skin.
I let out a frustrated scream.
"Help me!" I began to yell. I yelled until my voice was ragged and no more sound came out. I continued to claw at the board blocking my freedom.
My lungs were aching, I knew my oxygen supply was beginning to dwindle.
I faced the reality. I was going to die. This wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare. My worst nightmare.
My breathing became shallow, and I heard my heart slowing.
I couldn't think.
I could still hear the dirt falling.
I took my last breath as my heart slowed and blackness engulfed me.
The dirt had stopped falling and with what sounded like a final pat on top of the grave, my heart stopped.
It seems I've been buried alive.