My arms are pinned to my side and my legs are side by side, incapable of moving apart. There’s not much room for anything. I’m surrounded by the hard wood of my coffin. I can’t even move my head up; such a small coffin. When I was alive, this was what I was worried about; feeling claustrophobic in my own coffin.
I can’t breath. Now I really start to panic. The urge to move about swells up inside me. There’s a huge spider on my chest, coming close to my face. Am I worried about bugs too? Seems to me being buried dead is as horrible as being buried alive.
The spider crawls onto my chin, its tiny sharp legs poking at my skin, giving off an uncomfortable sort of sting. I try swiping it off with my arms, but my arms won’t move. They just press hard against the wood as I try brining them up to my chin.
Now the spider is on my lips. I try closing my mouth to prevent it from getting inside.
Too late.
I feel its spindly legs crawling around inside my mouth and I try spitting it out but instead it just slides down my throat. But it doesn’t go all of the way down; it’s just stuck in the middle of my throat.
I cough. Some dirt comes in through a crack in the ceiling of my coffin and lands in my eyes.
My eyes are burning!
I try wiping the dust out but I can’t. I can’t move my arms. And I can still feel the spider wriggling about in my throat. I have to cough but I try holding it.
Now a centipede crawls in through the crack and lands on my face and it crawls in through my nose. I can’t breath. Why am I feeling all of this when I’m supposed to be dead? If I’m dead, what happens if I suffocate? I can’t just die again.
Then I realize that I must still be alive. The panic swells up even more. The more, until I die.
My arms are pinned to my side and my legs are side by side, incapable of moving apart. There’s no room at all. I’m surrounded by the hard wood of my coffin. I can’t even move my head up; The ceiling is pressed hard upon me and it’s hurting my chest. I could barely breath.
When I was alive, this was what I was worried about; feeling claustrophobic in my own coffin. But this was worse than I imagined. My arms are aching from the hard wood squeezing me. My mouth directly under the crack in my coffin and I spider jumps into my mouth and a centipede into my nose.
I can’t breath. Why am I feeling all of this when I’m supposed to be dead? If I’m dead, what happens if I suffocate? I can’t just die again.
Then I realize that I must still be alive. The panic swells up even more. The more, until I die.
When I was alive, this was what I was worried about; feeling claustrophobic in my own coffin. But this was worse than I imagined. My arms are aching from the hard wood squeezing me.
I feel something big crawling on me. I manage to move my eyes a bit to see a huge snake on my chest, its gleaming eyes staring maliciously into mine.
And it lunges at my throat.
My arms are pinned to my side and my legs are side by side, incapable of moving apart. There’s no room at all.

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