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Fiction

The Little Death

Photo by KayteDeioma.com

My eyes were wide open but everything was pitch black. I was flat on my back in some kind of wooden coffin. Pushing on the lid above me didn’t help, there was something heavy on top of it. The air around me smelled of cigarettes, booze, and fresh pine. My head was pounding like a jackhammer gone wild, but a hangover was the least of my worries.