Buried Alive
Buried Alive stories
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It was all gone. All of it. His power, his glory, his family, his home, everything he had built had slipped through his fingers and now all that was left was darkness; a choking,
Source: King_Hugo https://www.reddit.com/r/...

Buried Alive

by King_Hugo

It was all gone. All of it.

His power, his glory, his family, his home, everything he had built had slipped through his fingers and now all that was left was darkness; a choking,

suffocating darkness that he had been submersed in, so black that his own hand in front of his face was invisible. Every stimuli around him seemed to be unanimous.

"You're dead Ricardo." they taunted. "You're dead and that's the end of it.

There aren't going to be any rivers of fire, there aren't going to be any black Gothic gates for Lucifer to open for you,

and there aren't going to be any cloaked ferry-workers to take you across the River Styx. This is your eternal punishment. An eternity of emptiness.

" Ricardo's face crinkled and shriveled into a horrified grimace, and for the first time since he was a little boy, he began to cry.

It was silent at first, but as it continued it grew in volume and intensity. He began to bawl, and shake, and scream. It was all over.

"It couldn't be," he thought. He had prepared so well. He had thought of every possible scenario and accounted for it, and for every attempt on his life a man had hung dead in the streets.

But still, he knew it in his heart to be true, someone had bested him, and whether it was man or God he didn't know. He supposed it mattered little anyway. He was dead. But wait...

My tears! Yes, he had felt them as vivid as raindrops on a hot summer day.

"Surely," he thought, "surely they must be real! I must be real! I'm still ali-" He froze, and the realization hit him like a bird on a window.

"I'm not dead," he said aloud, unseen dust being expelled from his lungs, "but I'm about to be."

His scream this time, was not one of anguish, but one of utter desperation. He flailed like a cornered dog, kicking and hitting the walls of his small wooden prison. He knew now.

The fury and adrenaline seemed to sharpen his senses. It was his wife. She had poisoned him, made him catatonic, and convinced the rest of the family that he was dead.

After all, she would get the inheritance, the nation, and of course, she'd be rid of him for good. She could spend the rest of her time with that good for nothing lover of her's.

Oh how he hated them; the both of them. He screamed again, this time in discernible words.

"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them all!" He screamed. He thrashed about, his blankets falling to the floor of his bedroom.

"Who Lord Protector?" Asked Brady, the bodyguard he had kept at his side ever since that bombing last winter.

"Bring me my wife!"

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