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Trapped in the Darkness

narrative Essay
979 words
979 words
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Trapped in the Darkness

It's dark, indescribably dark. Usually there's moonlight, artificial

light, starlight, something, but not here; there's nothing. I try to

move, but I am restrained. I listen, but I hear nothing. I smell but I

smell only something clinical. If it wasn't for my heart pounding and

my lungs racing to catch up, I might imagine I am dreaming, but I'm

not. I'm not!

I fearfully reach out with my right hand and, afraid of what I might

find, I try to resist the temptation to clench my fist. With each

centimetre I stretch comes a new level of terror. I reach further and

further, shivering in anticipation of what I might find. Shivering

allows me to feel the clothes I'm wearing and bringing with it the

frightening realisation that I'm not wearing the jeans and shirt I was

last night. I'm dressed in something quite different.

I bring my hand back, from its outward reach, to touch my waist: it

feels like a jacket. I slide it up to my neck. I feel fabric: it's a

bowtie. I'm in a suit. I rarely wear suits. Reluctantly I force my

hand to resume its search for a clue to where I am. It's an

unspeakable dread, not to know what I might find. I reach out my hand.

Thud. It hits something. I hesitantly stroke the face of the object

that it met. I reach out in another direction. Thud. And then I reach

out in another. Thud. Increasingly alarmed by this feeling of being

trapped I rub the surfaces with my hand, hoping they will yield some

clue to my situation. I feel all around me, but it's futile. My sense

of desperation mounts.

Realising that senses alone won't help me I try to remember what I did

last night. It was my bi...

... middle of paper ...

...ain. There is a slight jolt and I'm stationary. Thank God! There's a

low hum, like the hum of machinery, and I'm moving again, but not

rocking this time. This time the movement seems quite linear, and as I

begin to relax…

There is a roar, like the roar of a furnace which causes my heart to

quicken, my lungs to race and my mind to panic. Tiring of this

torture, I just want it to end. It's hot. My God it's hot! I begin to

perspire; the air thins and I gasp for oxygen. My feet blaze, and

suddenly I realise that this is no nightmare; this is no illusion. I

scream in agony. Aware of the inferno approaching my feet, I start to

convulse, fitting in a futile effort to break free from my constraint.

Flames rupture the coffin that restrains me, and the foul smell of

burning flesh is masked by the inevitability of death.

In this essay, the author

  • Opines that they move, but they are restrained. they listen but hear nothing, smell but smell.
  • Describes how they feel like a jacket. they slide it up to their neck.
  • Describes the reasons why they wanted to get dropped off at the pub.
  • Narrates how they were eager to meet their friend who had something different for us to discuss.
  • Narrates how as they sat down with the glasses of water, a man slipped.
  • Narrates how they pushed up with their left leg last night.
  • Narrates how blurred focus made them realise that it was their mum and dad.
  • Opines that they would breathe a sigh of relief if they were able to, but they're not.
  • Narrates how they were unable to move due to dad rushing along with them.
  • Opines that the roar of a furnace causes their heart to rumble.
  • Opines that torture, they just want it to end. it's hot.
  • Narrates how they close their eyes, too afraid to scream, open their mouth but are unable to speak. they try to raise their arm but it's lead.
  • Narrates how they wish they believed in god and wondered if he could help them.
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