Page 109 of Property of Necro
My mother flashes in my mind… standing at the doorway, taunting me, smiling like an evil witch with her disheveled hair and clothes three sizes too big. She’s pale with yellow teeth. She signs at me, telling me how useless I am, how I deserve this, that I did this to myself.
“Go away!” I screech and shake my head to rid myselfof her presence. I don’t need her here. I don’t need her to remind me that I fucked up. I drank those drinks and left with that man. A man I don’t even know. But I didn’t ask for this. I wanted to get laid, not buried.
Wait.
Buried.
I’m…
I knock against the side of the box.
Coffin.
I’m in a fucking coffin.
“This isn’t funny!” I kick the top of the box with my toes, and pain ripples up my feet and calves.
Is this punishment because I left? Did Coffin find me and decide I should join the others? That makes sense, right? I wasn’t supposed to go, and the price for those who do is death.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as my nose stings with the urge to sob, but I squash the itch. If I’m to die, I won’t beg for mercy or weep like a child. I won’t give them the satisfaction. In the afterlife, I will haunt them day and night until they beg for death. That will be my retribution.
For what feels like hours, I hold my overfull bladder like an Olympic champion and retreat into myself. Channeling Kali, I call on the witchy, meditative stuff she taught us in one of her many yoga-mat sitting, eyes-closed, mantra-mumbling sessions. I fumble through what I remember and become one with the earth. In through my nose, I inhale, hold it for five, and blow out through my mouth, humming. My muscles relax as I float in a sea of calm. My tears dry, and my pulse returns tonormal. I must fall asleep. When I come to, I’m shivering, but nothing else has changed.
Except…
More voices carry, closer than before. Male voices. Deep and angry.
Swallowing what I can of my overly dry mouth, I lick my lips. “Hello!” I try again, not expecting much. “Hello! I really need to use the restroom. I don’t want to pee on myself. That would ruin the craftsmanship of this lovely box!”
The gruff voices cease.
I take this as my cue to keep yelling. “Hi! I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty!”
Wait. No.
“Motorcycle! I’m here to teach you… no. Fuck!” I hit the side of the box. “Reach you about your motorcycle’s warranty! The extended one! Now, please let me out of here!”
A thump vibrates through my box, followed by a loudclang, and I brace, ready for the worst.
“Sola?”
Oh. Thank heavens.
“Rot!?”
There’s a scuffle on top of my coffin.
“Hold on, just give me a minute. Don’t worry. I’ll get you outta there,” he promises, voice muffled.
“Okay,” I squeak, not at all on the verge of losing it. Nope. Not at all. I’m all woman here. Strong. Big brass balls. All of it.
“Dammit,” Rot grunts. “Hold on. I’ve almost got it.” Another grunt and a slew of cursing follow. There’s a crackas the seal is broken, and the groan of wood, then sweet, sweet fresh air. I fill my lungs with it, even though it smells more like worms with the lid open.
Growling, Rot shoves the top off the side and into the… grave. Yep. I’m in an actual grave, six feet down, and he’s standing on something, and…
I look way up, beyond the creepy nightmare-fuel, human-sized hole in the ground, and gasp at the water-colored sky streaked with pinks and oranges.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Rot discards the wetness on the side of his holey jeans before offering it to me.
