For the first few minutes, she just screamed.
She screamed and clawed at the wood above her face. Bits of dirt fell onto her face from between the panels.
Gradually, she began to get calmer. And she stopped screaming.
She tried to remember what happened.
What had she done last night? What could have gone so terribly wrong, that she found herself waking up inside a wooden box (she dared not think of it as a coffin) under a pile of dirt?
Her phone. She had her phone. Steadying her shaking hand, she took the phone. "Emergency Calls Only". She tried 911. No service.
From the light of the screen, she could see her own scratch marks on the wood.
There were tiny specks of neon in some places, where the polish had come off her nails while she frantically scratched at the wood.
Don't panic. She kept telling herself. How long did she have before her oxygen ran out? Not very long, she thought. She never believed in God. But she found herself praying nevertheless.
That is when she heard the sound. Like something scraping on the wood paneling above her face. Was that a shovel? Yes, yes! It was a shovel scraping the dirt off.
Someone has come to take her out. "I'm in here! Get me out!". She was shouting again.
But several minutes went by, and no one took her out. She stopped shouting, and noticed that the sound had stopped as well.
And then it started again. But now she realized, that the scratching sound was coming from underneath her.