Dead But Alive

chapter one: living?

I've been stuck in here for approximately 32 days, 16 hours, and 25 minutes.
Not that I've been counting.
Okay, okay, I was counting. I don't have anything else to do.
And I mean anything.
It's hot. It's too warm, and there's not enough air. There's dirt touching every part of me, compressing me from every side.
There's dirt in my mouth, dirt in my eyes.
Eyes that sealed shut days ago.
I can't move. My body fell asleep around the first couple of hours. I'm not entirely sure I'm still intact.
But even if I could move my muscles, there wouldn't be enough room. There's no extra space in here. Just enough for one smallish teenage boy.
But even though I can't move, I can sure think.
So that's what I do. I think. I think until I have to have thought about everything there is to think about in this messed up world.
Until​ the gears of my brain are spinning so fast I'm amazed they don't just fly apart.
And I count.
Honestly, the 32 days, 16 hours, and 26 minutes isn't exact. I don't count every second of my life, if you could call this life.
I just guess, mostly.
But anyway, 'living' down here isn't so bad.
I mean, it stinks, yeah, but I've grown used to it.
You try being buried alive.