Deviation Actions
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Diary Entry - Date Unknown (Victorian Age)
Dear Diary,
I write this entry with trembling hands, my heart pounding within my chest, and a darkness that surrounds me like a suffocating shroud. I don't know how I got here, but I find myself in a nightmare beyond imagination. A nightmare that has transcended the boundaries of life and death.
I awoke to a stifling darkness, the air thick and unyielding. Panic set in when I realized my surroundings – confined, cold, and dreadfully silent. I tried to move, but my limbs felt heavy, as if entombed in some macabre cocoon. It was then that I understood the horrifying truth: I was buried alive.
"John!" I screamed, my voice muffled by the suffocating earth that embraced me. "Someone, please help!" My pleas echoed in the eerie silence, but there was no response. The only companions I had were the matches I kept in my dress pocket and a few candles that flickered, casting grotesque shadows on the confines of my tomb.
Days passed, marked only by the dim light of the matches and the agonizing silence that enveloped me. Each scream for salvation grew weaker as despair settled in. I banged on the coffin lid until my hands bled, but no one came. I was trapped in a nightmare of my own making, and there was no escape.
As the days turned into weeks, a sickening transformation overcame me. My flesh decayed, and a putrid odor filled the air, drawing insects to my decaying form. I could feel the torment of my own decomposition, the incessant buzzing of flies becoming a haunting symphony of my demise.
In the darkness, I gazed upon my reflection in the dim candlelight, horror etched across my skeletal face. Strands of hair fell away like ashes, and I awoke one day to find my left eye detached. With a grotesque nonchalance, I popped it back into its empty socket, feeling no pain, only a detached acceptance of my gruesome reality.
Weeks turned into a month, and my body withered away to a skeletal frame. My soul, no longer tethered to the decaying flesh, departed from the confines of the coffin. In a surreal moment of liberation, I found myself atop my own grave. The Grim Reaper, a shadowy figure draped in darkness, greeted me with an otherworldly solemnity.
Relief washed over me as I followed the ethereal light, leaving the torment of the buried alive far below. The darkness that clung to me dissipated, and an otherworldly calm settled in. As I walked into the light, the agony ceased, and I was free from the horrors that had bound me.
This, dear diary, is the chilling chronicle of Vanessa, a woman who discovered that death could be both a nightmare and a release.
Yours in the shadows,
Vanessa (if that's who I still am)