Challenge
Write a poetic interpretation of your greatest fear.
It may be of depression, inner demons, or simple daily things you find yourself afraid of.
I can’t breathe
I can’t breathe.
I press my arms out to the side, and after about 2 inches I feel cold, unyielding metal.
I can’t move.
My breath quickens and then I realize that I only have so much air, and I’ve probably used most of it already.
I don’t have long left.
I’d know how to break out if it was wood.
But it’s not. It’s metal.
I remember reading about people who’ve been buried alive.
They’re found with their hair pulled out, their nails bitten almost off, and with contorted skeletons.
I can’t escape.
I push up on the top of the casket, as hard as I can.
It doesn’t even budge.
I’m buried alive,
and they won’t find me before it’s too late.
3
1
2