I''m oversleeping again.


    I have a morning lecture, but my eyelids are heavy and the bed is warm. Reason is simply not a factor here. My internal clock is out of whack, and the cold weather isn''t helping. I let my tired thoughts drift back into nothingness.


    Come to think of it, am I actually tired?


    My eyelids offer no resistance, yet I can''t see a thing. I try to move, but I feel as if I''m set in cement. Actually, it might be true considering the lack of warmth from my "bed", yet I don''t feel cold.


    Am I dreaming? It''s the only explanation, but I''m perfectly conscious. On the other hand, if I''m awake there is one, small problem...


    I''m not breathing.


    I can feel my "blanket" on top of me, so I still have a sense of touch. Yet why can''t I feel my own breath? Why aren''t I choking for air? I feel nothing from my chest, as if I were made of wood.


    Panicking, I begin to flail. My arms are heavy, and I feel the pressure strain directly against my bones. I notice the sensation of innumerable, tiny grains slide across my arm.


    I''ve been buried alive!


    My desperation escalates, as I lose all sense of direction. I continue to squirm until a slight breeze brushes my hand. I regain my bearings, and begin to claw my way out. As I dig, I recognise the sensation of dirt between my teeth. Actually, my entire mouth seems to be full of dirt. How am I still alive? Not that I''m complaining.


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    As I orientate my body, my unease grows as I feel the soil shift within my jaw and, seemingly, within my torso as well. I wonder if being buried alive does this to your senses, with your body being pressured on all sides. Luckily, the psychopath who did this to me had prepared a shallow grave.


    I push myself out of the ground in one go, my lower half still beneath the earth. I am greeted by the sight of weathered graves, withered flowers, and a low wooden fence enclosing the area. The moon is a thin crescent, yet the night is so bright.


    I couldn''t care less where I am. I couldn''t care less why I was buried.


    I am alive!


    As I laugh with joy... I find I''m not laughing at all. My jaw hangs loose and soil pours on to my chest, or rather, it passes right through my chest. I also find it odd that my eyesight is so clear. Regardless, I raise a pale hand to knead my eyes.


    Tap


    My knuckle just went through my eye socket. More disconcerting was the hollow sound it just made. Another breeze passes, and I feel it flow between my ribs.


    I refuse to believe this. What kind of sick joke is this?


    I lower my hand and hesitantly check my body. What I saw was... a ribcage, a spine, and a half-buried pelvis. I cover my face in horror, but my bony fingers offer no reprieve from reality.


    I am alive, eh?


    Wrong. Dead wrong... literally.


    It seems I''m actually dead.