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Description
Is this a bag over my head? Good.
I stroke my face through the bag. It's an old fashioned potato sack, very thick weave. Very durable. Running my fingers down to my neck I feel the cord that has tied the bag around my head. Pulled so tight my skin is raw. What luck.
Stretching my arms to either side I can feel that the casket I'm in is fairly broad. Pushing to the sides is met with a loud crack, the wood is not so durable. Reaching in front the lid is quite a considerable distance from my face. This is not my coffin. And I'm not going to let it be. I seem to have been left with a dress shirt and  trousers. No shoes, one sock on my left foot. This is not so lucky. I lie a while and listen. There is no sound, either I have been left or buried very deep. Hopefully the former.
I tuck my legs up and bash the lid with my knees.  With each strike to the lid I can feel the case getting weaker. The trousers wear at the knees. Just my skin and the wood now. As I continue to strike the lid my skin splits.

Some time later  -all spent dashing my knees to the case- the blood is dripping from my knee to my shins and thighs. But at last the wood cracks above me. My hands rush to the gap as the soft, wet soil seeps in. I pull the wood apart and let the soil flood in. As this happens I scoop it all to my sides with my hands and legs. Scooping I feel bugs crawling over me. Their tiny legs tickling the hairs on my fingers. Concentrated pacing of breath becomes more sporadic with the thought. My fingernails begin to swell with the dirt caking underneath. I pick up haste as I begin to think of the feeling of fresh air is not so far away.
My arms now barely able to move due to packed in dirt around me. I rest. It's been what feels like several hours, my muscles are tired in my arms.
But now is not time for rest, is it? I slide myself down the coffin and tuck my knees back up. Pulling myself onto the balls of my heels in this position I cramp up in my abdominals. One shout of agony followed by seething will suffice for that injury as I continue my ascent.
Now crouching  and surrounded by soil, I push my hands upwards and slowly force the rest of my body to follow. I begin scooping downward and stepping on to all dirt I push below myself. The potato sack is filling with sweat and my own breath, I feel my hair becoming very damp and pressing to my head. A small price to pay for not inheriting a lung-full of mud. I ponder about what I look like as I am emerging, funny how my mind wanders to such things, but I can't help but feel that I am breast-stroking through six feet of mud.
My fingers break through to the surface. Like little flowers, they grow and grow until they are followed by hands and arms. Saplings, then growing into a tree stump. My head is out and I cry. I pull my body out until I can sit atop my hole and leave my shins and feet below as my roots. I lay backwards and I let my body sleep. Feeling the cold air wash over as the breeze licks my skin like a tide sweeping a shore.

I come to and feel heat baring upon my arms and baking the sack on my head. Fumbling with the tie around my neck it loosens and I slip it off my head. The blistering white sun pierces my retinas. Bliss.

Description
Is this a bag over my head? Good.
I stroke my face through the bag. It's an old fashioned potato sack, very thick weave. Very durable. Running my fingers down to my neck I feel the cord that has tied the bag around my head. Pulled so tight my skin is raw. What luck.
Stretching my arms to either side I can feel that the casket I'm in is fairly broad. Pushing to the sides is met with a loud crack, the wood is not so durable. Reaching in front the lid is quite a considerable distance from my face. This is not my coffin. And I'm not going to let it be. I seem to have been left with a dress shirt and  trousers. No shoes, one sock on my left foot. This is not so lucky. I lie a while and listen. There is no sound, either I have been left or buried very deep. Hopefully the former.
I tuck my legs up and bash the lid with my knees.  With each strike to the lid I can feel the case getting weaker. The trousers wear at the knees. Just my skin and the wood now. As I continue to strike the lid my skin splits.

Some time later  -all spent dashing my knees to the case- the blood is dripping from my knee to my shins and thighs. But at last the wood cracks above me. My hands rush to the gap as the soft, wet soil seeps in. I pull the wood apart and let the soil flood in. As this happens I scoop it all to my sides with my hands and legs. Scooping I feel bugs crawling over me. Their tiny legs tickling the hairs on my fingers. Concentrated pacing of breath becomes more sporadic with the thought. My fingernails begin to swell with the dirt caking underneath. I pick up haste as I begin to think of the feeling of fresh air is not so far away.
My arms now barely able to move due to packed in dirt around me. I rest. It's been what feels like several hours, my muscles are tired in my arms.
But now is not time for rest, is it? I slide myself down the coffin and tuck my knees back up. Pulling myself onto the balls of my heels in this position I cramp up in my abdominals. One shout of agony followed by seething will suffice for that injury as I continue my ascent.
Now crouching  and surrounded by soil, I push my hands upwards and slowly force the rest of my body to follow. I begin scooping downward and stepping on to all dirt I push below myself. The potato sack is filling with sweat and my own breath, I feel my hair becoming very damp and pressing to my head. A small price to pay for not inheriting a lung-full of mud. I ponder about what I look like as I am emerging, funny how my mind wanders to such things, but I can't help but feel that I am breast-stroking through six feet of mud.
My fingers break through to the surface. Like little flowers, they grow and grow until they are followed by hands and arms. Saplings, then growing into a tree stump. My head is out and I cry. I pull my body out until I can sit atop my hole and leave my shins and feet below as my roots. I lay backwards and I let my body sleep. Feeling the cold air wash over as the breeze licks my skin like a tide sweeping a shore.

I come to and feel heat baring upon my arms and baking the sack on my head. Fumbling with the tie around my neck it loosens and I slip it off my head. The blistering white sun pierces my retinas. Bliss.