The Coffin of Life
By: Greg Lautner
As my blurred vision cleared, everything that I saw was stark white. The lights, the walls, the bed sheets. But something is wrong, I can’t move my arms or my legs. Why are they putting a sheet over my head? I’m still ALIVE! I see my dad, but why is he crying? I try to tell the doctors that I am not dead, but I can’t move my mouth. I scream but the words are trapped inside of me. I hear the doctors pronounce me dead. My mom is in the next room recovering from surgery. She is screaming and crying. She must hear me because she is telling them I am still alive. But they do not seem to be listening, and walk out of the room, leaving her alone.
I am taken to a place with a smell of death; this can’t be the funeral home, could it? I am placed inside a wooden casket and am prepared for visitation. This can’t be happening! Why can’t anyone see that I am still alive? I watch my whole family come tell me goodbye, and I try to tell them to get me out of this place. I don’t belong, but they just keep moving. Their tears are dripping onto my powdered face. Then I see my mom. She looks so tired and sad. I hear her telling everyone that I am not dead, it’s a terrible mistake. She is screaming but people just turn away from her. She is the only one that knows the truth. As the priest says his final words and the coffin lid closes on me, my mother faints in the aisle. I am not dead. I am trapped inside a body that will not move. I am being buried alive! I thought these things only happened in the movies.
It was just two weeks ago that I was playing baseball and everything was pretty normal. Well, not exactly normal. My mom did have cancer. She needed a bone marrow transplant, and we found out I was a perfect match for her. I was so excited that I was going to cure my mom. The doctors said that it would be a simple procedure, maybe 30 minutes at the most that I would be under. I would spend the night in the hospital and could go home the next day. Simple. We checked into the hospital on Friday, my dad’s birthday. What an awesome present for him, for my mom to be cured, and for me to be the one to cure her.
It is dark in here, but I feel movement. They must be loading me into the hearse. Although the sounds are muffled, I can still hear my mother’s cries of hopelessness and despair. A few minutes go by, and then we must arrive at the cemetery. There is more movement and then, finally, stillness. There are more muffled sounds and cries and I can so very clearly hear my mother sobbing, “He’s alive! He’s alive!” But no one seems to listen to her. I feel shaky, like I am losing my balance and the world is dropping away. I am lowered into the cold ground.
After a few minutes of lying still, I begin to feel my heart beat. It’s racing and I am panicking. Sensation returns to my once paralyzed body. I realize that I can move my arms. I start pounding on the coffin, but no one hears me. I start scratching the lid, hoping that my mom will hear my cry of help. I hear the dirt falling onto the coffin. I scream and scratch the coffin lid, desperate to be saved. I am so close, how could no one hear me? I am having trouble breathing and am growing tired. But, I keep banging the lid and screaming as loud as I can, “Mom!” “Mom!”
It’s fall and the wind is blowing. My mother and father are at the cemetery. They look so old and tired. There are a couple of other men with them and they begin to dig up my grave. I hear them talking about an exhumation and autopsy. My mother needs help standing. They pull the coffin up and my mother falls on the lid. My father tries to pull her away and as he does, she grabs the lid and it opens. The long scratch marks on the lining are tinged in blood. My eyes are wild and open and my mouth is frozen in a silent scream.