I'm oversleeping again.

I have a morning lecture, but my eyelids are heavy and the bed is warm. Reason is simply not a factor here. My internal clock is out of whack, and the cold weather isn't helping. I let my tired thoughts drift back into nothingness.

Come to think of it, am I actually tired?

My eyelids offer no resistance, yet I can't see a thing. I try to move, but I feel as if I'm set in cement. Actually, it might be true considering the lack of warmth from my "bed", yet I don't feel cold.

Am I dreaming? It's the only explanation, but I'm perfectly conscious. On the other hand, if I'm awake there is one, small problem...

I'm not breathing.

I can feel my "blanket" on top of me, so I still have a sense of touch. Yet why can't I feel my own breath? Why aren't I choking for air? I feel nothing from my chest, as if I were made of wood.

Panicking, I begin to flail. My arms are heavy, and I feel the pressure strain directly against my bones. I notice the sensation of innumerable, tiny grains slide across my arm.

I've been buried alive!

My desperation escalates, as I lose all sense of direction. I continue to squirm until a slight breeze brushes my hand. I regain my bearings, and begin to claw my way out. As I dig, I recognise the sensation of dirt between my teeth. Actually, my entire mouth seems to be full of dirt. How am I still alive? Not that I'm complaining.

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As I orientate my body, my unease grows as I feel the soil shift within my jaw and, seemingly, within my torso as well. I wonder if being buried alive does this to your senses, with your body being pressured on all sides. Luckily, the psychopath who did this to me had prepared a shallow grave.

I push myself out of the ground in one go, my lower half still beneath the earth. I am greeted by the sight of weathered graves, withered flowers, and a low wooden fence enclosing the area. The moon is a thin crescent, yet the night is so bright.

I couldn't care less where I am. I couldn't care less why I was buried.

I am alive!

As I laugh with joy... I find I'm not laughing at all. My jaw hangs loose and soil pours on to my chest, or rather, it passes right through my chest. I also find it odd that my eyesight is so clear. Regardless, I raise a pale hand to knead my eyes.

Tap

My knuckle just went through my eye socket. More disconcerting was the hollow sound it just made. Another breeze passes, and I feel it flow between my ribs.

I refuse to believe this. What kind of sick joke is this?

I lower my hand and hesitantly check my body. What I saw was... a ribcage, a spine, and a half-buried pelvis. I cover my face in horror, but my bony fingers offer no reprieve from reality.

I am alive, eh?

Wrong. Dead wrong... literally.

It seems I'm actually dead.