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Prompt: you wake up from a coma & they buried you. (from another friend)

The head wound was traumatic, but not life-ending. But they had taken matters into their own hands. He was wasting bed space, supplies, and wasn't waking up any time soon.

"We need to dispose of him. His trauma is suspicious on its own, and who knows what he said, and or didn't say, while behind enemy lines. He's likely to not remember anything when he wakes, and even if he did he's already compromised. They know what he looks like and who he belongs to."

"We can't know any of this for sure, not yet."

"They delivered him back to us, already in this state."

No one could argue any more, and no one would. People like him were expendable, one of many. He was just a faceless, nameless man in sea of people that were the bloody hands of the association. He had no family, no one to miss him or even know that he was gone.


He could hear things moving around and was aware of a great weight setting a top his entire body. Something slimy was moving across his face. Everything smelled earthy, from the tiny amounts of oxygen that he could breathe in. With ever breath he could taste dirt. He was lying on his side, one arm pinned beneath him, the other to side. He could move the fingers of the top hand, and all he could feel was lose dirt. Something tickled the inside of his nose and ever breath filled his mouth with more dirt. He didn't dare open his eyes.

Where was he? What had happened? Had he died and this was hell? Something in the back of his mind told him that the latter was only a pretty lie. A memory came floating back to him and he tried to keep from panicking. Someone had found out who he was and what he did. He remembered a dark room with a single naked bulb and something...something...

As if on cue there was a blinding stab on pain as something crawled over the upside of his head. He couldn't keep his eyes from watering, leaving muddy tracks down his cheeks, or the quick intake of breath. Dirt clogged his nose and he tried to snort, which only caused the moist dirt to stick in clumps, blocking even more airflow. He tried to work some of the dirt out of his mouth in tiny puffs, but that wasn't helping either. His throat was itchy with the need to cough and sneeze but he forced himself to do neither.

The head wound from the car. That would also explain the now throbbing in his pinned down leg. He had been found out and hit by a car. Questioned. Then no more memories. Who had buried him? How far under was he and could he dig his way out? He tried to shimmy and everything only packed tighter around him. Another stab of pain lanced through his head, but at least time he didn't breath.

The worm, or what he assumed was a worm, that had been crawling on his cheek earlier was now moving around, inspecting his nostril. There was something with legs crawling inside his shirt, and something else down the back of his pants. He began to tremble minutely. This was how his bloody life was going to end, buried alive.

At least it was only the earth dwelling things that would see him suffer.
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