Trapped

Have you ever felt trapped? One day, you're enjoying a perfect morning. The next thing you know, you're lying in a confined space. You can't stand, can't sit up. You can't even turn and lie on your side. All you see is the wooden sheet barely six inches in front of you, and the growing moist spot where your breath has condensed.

You can't turn your head to look around you. But your hands and bare feet can feel the corners and edges of the cramped wooden prison. You can't breathe. You start to panic. You scream for help, as you move around and feel for a way out. All in vain. You get desperate, and the wet spot in front of you catches your attention.

You try furiously to claw your way out with your fingernails. Splinters pierce your skin, and your nails start to chip. Blood starts to flow from your fingers, down to your hands, then arms from all the scraping. But the wood does not yield. And after a while, you realize the futility of it all. And as you hear the muffled pounding outside, nail after nail, you surrender.

"Yes, Auntie," I whispered.

"That's great Sean. As I said, she's a lovely girl. You'll see for yourself on Sunday," she replied, just as I heard the sound of the hammer hit the head of the final nail.

photo from here