I’ve been lying here for days now. Weeks even. Or at least it seems like that. You lose track of time when you can no longer see the day or night. All I’ve been able to do is just think.

When I first awoke the flood of emotions was almost too much for me to comprehend, fear, panic and confusion all at once, but with no means to run away and no one answering my desperate calls there was nothing to do but drift into silence.

I could have sworn that I have heard voices nearby a few times, but my cries for help have been futile, no one has answered. It must be my imagination.

My back doesn’t ache, and the pins and needles in my knees that I’ve suffered with all my life no longer plague me. Movement is becoming ever more difficult, I feel stiff, though it isn’t painful.

I don’t feel hungry, haven’t done since the first flood of panic before I passed out. I know I had a good meal recently but can’t remember when or where. It must have been days since then. Strange.

I’ve slept a few times, the exhaustion over-powering any other feelings that may have been drifting through me at the time. But I still wake up here, still lying in this small prison that has become my home. The same scratch marks scar the walls around me.

They will be missing me soon, my wife, kids and the rest of the family. There will be a search. But how will they find me down here?

My fingernails haven’t healed up, and my skin is turning a pale colour. Is it supposed to do that? Is that because I have been in the dark all this time? I think my beard is still growing though, which is comforting since I spent a pretty dollar on beard oils, I’m glad something is working.

I don’t understand why I’m still here. I should have suffocated by now. Surely under the ground there wouldn’t be enough air for me to breath for this long.

I’ve heard people say that in those last few moments as death approaches you see your life flash before you. How did they know that? What if those moments last longer than a few seconds, even weeks? Did I get stuck there?

I thought coffins were supposed to be airtight.

I wasn’t expecting death to be like this.

It’s quiet here.