It couldn’t have been long…or, at least that was Jerimiah’s best guess. The fact that he was still alive was a clear indication of that.  Blackness; nothing but dense darkness surrounded him. He tried to maneuver but the space was limited, in fact he was barely able to separate his arms from his body. Lifting his hand he jammed his thumb on the roof which was only inches above him. Several times he banged on the roof as hard as he could; the stiff sound of his strikes unable to resonate through the uncertain surface that lay on top of him. He inspected himself up and down; a suit, a tie and even his Yakama. It all started to sink in, albeit as hard a notion it was to comprehend.

Hyperventilating – the sound of his breathing brushed along the walls of his congested quarter, he tried desperately to remember what he could. Where he was before this? How did this happen? Why couldn’t he remember anything? All these questions and more raced through his mind, but none as terrifying as the most apparent fact; he was buried alive! Jerimiah let out several bellows, screaming in short bursts as he could feel the air beginning to deplete in quality; the smell and taste of his expended breaths beginning to take its place.

He knew he had only a few minutes, or less, accounting for the amount of time he’d been here already. He continued his attempts to desperately claw his way through the roof, but did nothing but bruise his fingers as they now began to bleed. He could feel the dampness of his blood within the padded lining of the roof. Jerimiah ripped and clawed at the padding trying to give himself a sense of progress in his escape. From the corner he managed to separate a piece of fabric with his thumb and fore-finger, tearing it from the seam.

Jerimiah did his best to feel out the edges and, taking a firm grip of the exposed lining pulled with what strength and leverage he could muster. He managed to pull away a large section of fabric of about two square feet. Though he couldn’t see anything the feeling of making headway, as well as the solid surface, was motivating. He patted the slab of wood above him trying to hear any semblance of an echo; a vibration of any kind that would give him a sense of hope. His blows, however hard, fell flat, but Jerimiah pounded until his muscles were numb; crying and laughing in a growing uncontrollable hysteria.

All he could think of was how he could’ve ended up here. Amongst the tears and the sharp breaths he tried his best to imagine how and why someone could’ve made such a mistake. Did they think he was dead? Why? What had happened? What was the last thing he could remember? Nothing; there was nothing he could recall. He never really did anything out of the ordinary; his routine was pretty standard. He only had two friends he could speak of, or at least those he would go out of his way to spend time with. His best friend Dan who he spoke to on and off during the week and would drop by his house every so often…

When did I talk to him last? It was… God, when was it? Thursday… Friday? He thought back, as best he could remember he hadn’t heard from Dan in days, probably due to the obvious circumstance.

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