I remember when I was thirteen and we were almost buried alive. Us and our friend, S.
Him and me had dug an underground fort, and this was was shaped like a grave. It very nearly became one and I was 13, 13
13
14 or so. (keep getting stuck on that; sorry folks; tried three times – erased deleted and done again…keep on going.. forcing this thing)
13
we were in the thing.
it was big – it was almost as big as I was; that is to say it was almost as tall as one. And we couldn’t stand up in this thing, this friend and I.
We had built this thing deep; next to a shed – it was exactly about six foot long and three foot wide, and it didn’t have a top on it. It was built into sandy soil; we knew the hazards of what we were doing but we had done it before and survived (losing ability to type; this was before “i’ we learned)
we were digging this thing and we put a top on it made out of ply wood and things using some boards and whatnot. We put some cinder blocks on top to steady the top and then we buried it all in that sandy soil.
we went right in climbing down a ladder we made and this was the thing it was dark and cool in that cave and we had brought a game and some candles.
So we sat down right there Indian style (firming up here some – measuring emotions and feelings for sure) and we’re playing this game (he’s retreating, so I’m going to have to take over. Which makes sense. This is when “the bad thing happened” and I can feel a lot f fear – both for him and my friend)
We were sitting there playing this game and the wall fell in. It was the one to my left which was the one to the right of my friend. It simply fell in all of a sudden with this sudden “whoosh!” kind of sound, but one you’ll (we’ll) never forget.
It was the sound of a million million sand grains all rushing against one another.
And it fell in, burying my head and arms – as I knew it had done my friend, having seen HIM going down and under this heavy load of sand – and we’d been warned again and again not to do this: build a cave in the sand. Kids had been killed doing this – having this same sort of thing happen . . .
But we didn’t panic! Not so bad, anyways – we immediately knew what to do, even as the sand was pouring over our head. We tucked in our noses and our chin, creating an air gap within the pocket between our neck/face and chest; we used our hands to push the sand away; trying to keep our head unburied – until we’d formed a tiny funnel with just the top of our head and arms sticking out -and breathing in that sand – you gotta be careful, you gotta get it quick – before it can settle – and it had settled in; fortunately we had our hands clear, and we pushed away the sand and raised our head – it’s dark, but there’s light coming through from the opening down into the ‘tunnel’ – and I can see my friend and he’s raising his head and it’s all covered with sand . . .
and we push it away, me and him – both trapped in this sitting position, Indian style – the sand is pressing against my chest, squeezing harder with each breath – you gotta watch out, sand can ‘squeeze’ you to death, you get enough of a load on you – so it’s shallow breaths from then on . . .
and me and my bud’s eyes go to the opposite wall where there are sand grains a’crumblin’ and we look at each other and you know? We can see death in each other’s eyes; we know we are potentially within moments of dying at any time . . .
There’s little kids outside and one runs and comes and jumps on our ‘house’ – he’s done this before – then before we can yell at him to stop or help – he’s run away (they are playing in the yard, blissfully unaware that two of their friends are seconds from dying just a few yards away . . . buried under the ground . . .)
And my friend and I look at one another and laugh and say:
“You know, if that wall falls down, we’re dying.” There’s a seriousness in my voice. The same seriousness that an old man heard a few years ago, and made his antenna stand straight up (I was warning him about something dangerous he was going to do – afterwards he said he could hear the change in my voice and knew: this was some serious ass shit he was fixing to get into: he’d better be careful as hell and listen to my instructions – to save his ass. Out in the Arizona desert. 2 years back).
Off subject (avoiding this one . . . again, for obvious reasons. Apparently it was some kind of traumatic thing here. Any opinions on this? I’ve lost contact with the emotions regarding this event . . . except a kind of subliminal fear; anticipation . . . okay, here goes … fallign back in)
We were in the pit. We kept on yelling for help. No one would come. There were more and more grains of sand kept crumbling off that wall. Sooner or later someone would come we kept hoping and yelllig until our lungs were sore from it. And then someone come. One of the kids I think. Maybe my own brother finally come to see what was up. Or maybe it was dinner (supper) time. Anyway it was a long long time.
They come and dig us up. They weren’t real careful doing it. At first they (my dad and his friend) were ripping off the roof and a cinder block hit my friend
It hit him right on the head knocking him out right then. Wang, bang, it fell it; his head fell over like a dead chicken right there in the sand. LOL not even a peep outta him if you get my meaning and drift. So’s we’re sitting there looking at him and hoping they aren’t going to be dropping no cinderblock on OUR head when we warn them: Look out up there you are dropping cinderblocks on our head. so they look out.
meanwhile this other wall is crumbling in . My friend wakes up and looks at me; rubs a sore spot on his head and asks me what is happening what happened and I point at the thing and say: “Hey, that block fell on your head” and we both start laughing about the wildness of the whole thing.
Meanwhile they are still digging us on outta there and the shovel blades hurting as it goes in skinning along our chest and back and things…
and then they go to lift us up
and grabbing our wrists they do – lift us up, just like we are – still sitting, for our legs are locked and we can’t move them at all.
And they sit us down on the ground like two petrified Indians – petrified from waist down. We can breath again, which is a relief, and it takes awhile for the effect to wear off.
and finally they lead me, stumbling in; I can barely walk – and I’m taking a shower and I hurt and it feels good but I’m so sandy it takes a long while …
and I hurt for a long long time.
the end.
and to tell the truth I didn’t like it a lot. you all. (sullen mad at ‘us’, his alters in some way . . . why? I don’t know . .. . hurts and lonely inside … calling to him … time to go …. talk to ‘myself’ for awhile 😦 <-him.
The Lost Journals 