literature

WWC 5 -- lightwing5

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He breathed out slowly, his breath showing in the cold. He shivered, but it wasn’t cause of the cold, he never wanted to come, yet he found himself dragged by his so-called friends. He kept walking, the gravel crunching under each step he took. He turned at every sound, his heart beat raising then slowly returning to normal every time.
      
       He rubbed the spot on his head that his friend had hit him with a bat, he was amazed that the bat didn’t crack open his head. Yet he wonder why there wasn’t even a bump, just a sharp pain.
      
       “I Can’t believe they left me here,” He mumbled, the cold getting into his lungs. He breathed into his gloves, “Going to kick th- HOLY SHIT!” He felt something grab his foot and try to pull him down, but he quickly pulled away. He turned around to see what had grabbed him, but there was nothing there.
      
       “Ok  . . .  it was just  . . . my imagination,” He panted, clutching his chest, his heart beat raising. He stood there shaking uncontrollably, he hated it here and he wanted to leave. He stared at the spot where he could have sworn that something had grabbed him. Taking steps back, careful not to lose his gaze, he finally decided to turn around and find the exit.
      
       “Keep calm, keep calm . . . ,” He whispered, his eyes darting to every dark shadow he saw. He saw the gravestones perfectly alined on each side, start to get bigger, he breathed out. “Calm done,” He concentrated on breathing and doing so, he began to read the worn out words on the gravestones. Yet he never noticed the incoming fog that covered his feet.
      
      There soul rest . . .   Is remembered . . . No better man.  . . . God love reaches, He stopped, his eyes widening at the next gravestones. He felt his heart leap to his throat and his body started to shake again. He swallowed as he read what was written on the gravestone, James Ting April 1, 1991- July 29, 2007. He looked at his watch hoping that today wasn’t the 29, he sighed, it was the 28.
      
       That couldn’t be him, there had to be more than one James Ting out there, but the fact that the grave was there before the date of the death scared him.
      
       He looked around, hoping to see his friends pop out and yell ‘got you,’ but he couldn’t see anything through the thick fog. He rubbed his arms trying to keep warm, as it got colder. He jumped when he heard a beep, he looked down at his watch, the little section that was the date was now blinking 29. He froze and turned around, as the fog started to thin out, until he can see clearly through it.
      
       Yet there was nothing, it was the same as before, he took a couple of steps back. “There’s nothing to worry about,” He kept repeating to himself. A couple of more steps back, “It’s all in your head.” He smiled weakly, another step, “There’s nothing to fear.”
      
       “Wrong, there’s always something to fear,” He turned around at the sound of another voice, but the ground under him gave away. He twisted in air and hit something hard face forward. He quickly turned over on his back and looked around, in an instance he realized he was in a coffin. He looked up and saw something dark coming down toward him, he put his hands out to stop it from coming down, but it was no use.
      
       It completely engulfed him in total darkness, he started to scream and bash his fist against the hard wood. Yet all he heard was a thump every couple of seconds and quickly figured out it was the sound of dirt hitting wood, he was going to be buried alive!
      
       “Don’t bury me alive, I don’t want to die!” He hit the wood harder, until his hands started to bleed, tears started to come out.
      
       “Silly boy, your not going to die,” He stopped pounding on the wood, “You already bled to death!”
      
       That’s when he felt something wet behind his head, around the same area his friend had hit him with a bat. “No,” He whispered, reaching back and touching his head, there was a huge crack in his skull, “No.”
      
       “Rest in peace.”
      
       “NO, I’m alive” He screamed with all his might, he kept screaming until he couldn’t and until he couldn’t lift up his hands. It had been awhile since he last heard the thump, but he kept muttering ‘I’m alive’.
      
       - - -
      
       “They say a teen was killed at this graveyard a couple of years ago, know about it?”
      
       “Yeah, if you come at night and listen really well, you can hear his ghost.”
      
       “What does he say?”
      
       “I’m alive.”
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Weekly Writing Challenge #5 by *lightwing5 called "I'm Alive."

"Graveyards, where body and soul are laid to rest, even if they’re not ready yet."
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