Chapter Text
Kaya wakes up seven feet under.
She's choking on dirt and she can't breathe or see in this darkness.
It's suffocating, and she can't even open her damn eyes because dirt is crushing onto her there, too.
The palms of her hands feel grimy and there's enough compressed dirt around her body that she can barely move.
Her chest is almost caving in with all the weight pressed onto her, and there is an insistent pounding sensation in her head.
Everything is silent, and she wants to scream because—why was she here?
Her mind was disturbingly blank—she can't remember anything—and the only thing she feels is panic.
She has no idea why she feels this way until she realizes that she's gradually fading out.
The panic is there, but it isn't.
It's like an underlying feeling as she mechanically tries to do something—in the face of her panic-but-not-panic.
Her mind is screeching, even when she can do nothing in the physical realm.
help—
She's flailing—trying to flail—and her heart is going into overdrive.
can't breathe—
Everything is rushing to her head, and she feels faint.
Dirt is clogging up into her throat and eyes—
Kaya dies.
She wakes up seven feet under, again.
It's a terrifying feeling.
Darkness is encompassing, and sound never seems to reach her.
Its black and more black, silence on silence, and it creeps her out.
Freaks her out.
She can scarcely breathe—
The same dirt is clogging up her throat, and she wants to die.
And preferably stay dead.
She's moving her hands before she can think—she wants out—and her hands are furiously clawing at the dirt.
Her hands move slowly in the compacted dirt—like molasses—and she digs with all the nonexistent strength she has.
A faint metallic smell hits her nose, but she can barely tell the difference between that and the smell of dirt at this point.
She can feel dirt underneath her nails as she goes numb.
At least she doesn't die.
The process of her digging and digging seemed like centuries—maybe it had been, she doesn't know—and she's had enough of collapsing dirt in her face that when she feels the cool breeze of air reach her fingertips, she pushes the rest of her body up with her face.
She clambers out of that hellhole like there was no tomorrow, and resists the urge to kiss the ground like she's seen astronauts do on TV.
There has been enough mouth-to-ground contact for the past while.
Dirt is up her nose and she can see the ripped fingernails she has in the moonlight.
They're bleeding like a faucet, and she can see gross dirt trapped in the crevices of her skin.
It might leave an infection.
But she doesn't really know much about things like that.
She'll just hope for the best, at this point.
Can't really go any lower than seven feet under and dead.