After Life

Read the beginning of the story in ‘The Awakening’.



Suddenly, there was a distant noise. Not very far away, close enough to hear different voices discuss about things she could not hear. They approached, and she hated to feel the soft flower of hope blossoming again in her chest. Once more she placed her hands against the wood and started to bang her fists against it, screaming until she thought she would eventually die of a shortage of breath. The voices still approached, and the tone of their conversation didn’t change. The flower of hope started to shrivel a little already in her chest, and she decided to stay calm and accept the faith she had been given. Until there was a muffled thud above her, the sound of digging shovels into the wet earth. Her heart rejoiced with every thud that came closer to her coffin. But it also proved she had indeed been buried alive. The anger and incomprehension of such a mistake felt faint and almost unreal by the relief and joy she felt, knowing her solitude had come to an end. The loud cracks of the shovels scraping over the wooden surface were more welcoming than repulsive, and she felt the nearly uncontrollable urge to sit straight up again. The coffin squeaked and moaned under the harsh movements of her saviors. And then, finally, the blinding sunbeams of another morning here, alive.

But something had changed drastically, and it changed everything.

The night before had been a blur. She never really wanted to go to the party, and if it hadn’t been for her friend Angela keep asking if she’d go, she probably would’ve stayed home and watched some TV. But she had to admit that it was their last year in high school, and the last time in a long time they would have the time to meet up and have fun with all the old friends and foes alike. Angela had insisted in getting ready together, so they met up at 9 sharp to do make-up, to fit some dresses and to try to prepare themselves for the great night to come. The house of the friend who hosted it all wasn’t far away, so they went on foot together, both with a purse and extra shoes to prevent aching feet or soreness in the morning. They had laughed the idea away first, but she was so glad she felt her loyal sneakers against her side when she walked on the uncomfortable heels to the party. Coming to think of it, she didn’t have a clue where either of her shoes had gone to, but she couldn’t remember everything yet. It still felt like she had to watch through a thick fog to see her own memories. And right now, she was more occupied with what she did see above her, and with what had changed.

She had never felt so compelled to stay inside this coffin.



1. The other side of the coin

barrowden village

Summer Barrowden Village, Rutland County


1.1 A dream to pursue

Born and raised in a small village in England, Barrowden Village, Patricia developed her love for the big city, fame and eternal glory already on a young age. She played dress-up with her little friends, did photo-shoots with her dolls and tried to do some stunning make-up. Patricia lived like a princess when she was a little girl, daddy’s little princess, and when she grew up, she knew exactly what she wanted to become: famous. Her name, her photograph, her life in magazines, on TV and everywhere she could imagine it to be. She moved away from Barrowden Village to the big city, to a life new and completely foreign to her, to pursue a lifelong dream.

Yet the world is never a kind mistress, and Patricia had to find out about this the hard way. She was thrown out of buildings, denied for roles and parts in shows or movies, rejected almost everywhere and more than anything, she felt empty. Her dream had been shattered and she had nothing left to grab on to. That’s when I met her, in the gutter and completely devastated by life itself and its cruel ways. She sat at a bar somewhere, in a small alleyway, and she was more drunk than sober. She emptied her glass of red wine and placed it back a little too hard. The small, delicate leg of the glass snapped and broke in half, dragging the rest of the glass alongside with it to its doom on the floor. The bartender was furious and screamed to her that she had to go. When she was about to start a fight she had no chance of winning, I stepped in and dragged her out of the bar before anything bad could happen.

I helped her walk to my apartment, where she fell into the couch and  immediately fell asleep. Not knowing who I was or where she was the next day, she almost freaked out, but she gave me the time to explain and nevertheless, I saw the expression of relief and enormous gratitude on her face. The glimpse in her eyes was one of perseverance and hope, and we started to work together as a team. She became a friend, and it feels like I have a sister I have never had. She decided to follow my mother’s footsteps and to start a blog together, one where I would write and she would guide.

More to follow on Patricia and her past later, when she is ready to reveal more of her quite sophisticated background story.

Start of a new journey: After Life

The Awakening

After Life

The weird feeling of waking up somewhere and not knowing where you are, crushed like a wave into her steadily rising and falling chest. No light to be spotted anywhere, even when she finally had been able to pull open her eyes, still thick with sleep. Her memory was foggy and almost everything had faded away in the thick paste of her thoughts. her mouth felt dry and her tongue was like a sponge in it. A hard surface was supporting her sore shoulders, but even though she laid all night on it, she didn’t feel any pain. Anywhere. Not even a headache from the party she had gone to the day before and where she had probably slept on the floor. She slowly raised her hand when the memories started to break through the thick paste in her head again. Her hand hit something not far above her head, en she pushed it against her chest, startled by the unexpected feeling of a wooden surface that had brushed her skin. She took two long breaths to calm her thoughts, now racing through her mind. Her restless hand that had brushed over the wood above her, caressed her other arm, and it froze in the middle of the act. Her fingers felt like they were made of ice, and if they had left a burning mark on her skin. The overpowering darkness gave her chills running down her spine. She closed her eyes again so the darkness felt a little more natural, took a deep breath and reached upwards with both hands.

The soft hope blooming in her chest grew denser with every inch her hands got higher. Hope shattered with the agonizing realization that she was in a dark, small and closed space. All alone, cold, and probably already the whole night. Like she had locked herself into someone’s closet. But she had to face the truth with her hands so firmly pushing against the wooden plate above her head. Her breath started to become heavier and faster, and her muscles flexed to push open the box she was lying in. It didn’t move, didn’t make any noise and felt like it was pushing her back into her place, the dark, confined place which seemed to be growing smaller every second. By now she was fully conscious of her surroundings, noticing her feet softly pushing against the end of the box. The tight skirt she had been wearing at the party was replaced with a soft, flowy kind of silk dress, she was barefoot and she smelled the soft sweetness of flowers.

A wave of panic crushed into her and made her hands claw themselves into the wood. She reached to the end of the box next to her, but it only made the panic in her chest reach a new level. She started to wail and moan softly as the panic took over her thoughts. It grew louder and louder, until she was screaming the air out of her longs. It wouldn’t be long before the tears would pour down her face, making her face damp with fright. But there were no tears, and they stayed away. Her longs did not hurt from the long screams and the lack of air in the soft, confined box, and her throat wasn’t sore. Her fists banged against the wooden plank above her, almost as if they had a life of their own, and she screamed for help, knowing her efforts were futile. She had read about it in an old book, but never thought it would happen to her. She had been buried. And she was very, very much alive. The panic started to ease a little when the wooden plank made a little crack, but nothing more happened. She closed her eyes again and let her hands rest against her sides. Knowing that a lot of people in the middle ages had died this way, she also knew there was no way out. No escape. No one would hear her, and if they did, they would leave the graveyard, frightened and with a chilling story for their family and friends. How they had heard a distant scream, like it had come from hell itself to drag them down there. No tears still. She tried to ease her breath, realizing she had hold it for at least a minute now, and her chest didn’t hurt yet.

The silence was overwhelming.