Trapped in the Darkness Essay -- Papers

Trapped in the Darkness It's dark, indescribably dark. Usually there's moonlight, artificial light, starlight, something, but not here; there's nothing. I try to move, but I am restrained. I listen, but I hear nothing. I smell but I smell only something clinical. If it wasn't for my heart pounding and my lungs racing to catch up, I might imagine I am dreaming, but I'm not. I'm not! I fearfully reach out with my right hand and, afraid of what I might find, I try to resist the temptation to clench my fist. With each centimetre I stretch comes a new level of terror. I reach further and further, shivering in anticipation of what I might find. Shivering allows me to feel the clothes I'm wearing and bringing with it the frightening realisation that I'm not wearing the jeans and shirt I was last night. I'm dressed in something quite different. I bring my hand back, from its outward reach, to touch my waist: it feels like a jacket. I slide it up to my neck. I feel fabric: it's a bowtie. I'm in a suit. I rarely wear suits. Reluctantly I force my hand to resume its search for a clue to where I am. It's an unspeakable dread, not to know what I might find. I reach out my hand. Thud. It hits something. I hesitantly stroke the face of the object that it met. I reach out in another direction. Thud. And then I reach out in another. Thud. Increasingly alarmed by this feeling of being trapped I rub the surfaces with my hand, hoping they will yield some clue to my situation. I feel all around me, but it's futile. My sense of desperation mounts. Realising that senses alone won't help me I try to remember what I did last night. It was my bi... ...ain. There is a slight jolt and I'm stationary. Thank God! There's a low hum, like the hum of machinery, and I'm moving again, but not rocking this time. This time the movement seems quite linear, and as I begin to relaxà ¢Ã¢â€š ¬Ã‚ ¦ There is a roar, like the roar of a furnace which causes my heart to quicken, my lungs to race and my mind to panic. Tiring of this torture, I just want it to end. It's hot. My God it's hot! I begin to perspire; the air thins and I gasp for oxygen. My feet blaze, and suddenly I realise that this is no nightmare; this is no illusion. I scream in agony. Aware of the inferno approaching my feet, I start to convulse, fitting in a futile effort to break free from my constraint. Flames rupture the coffin that restrains me, and the foul smell of burning flesh is masked by the inevitability of death. Trapped in the Darkness Essay -- Papers Trapped in the Darkness It's dark, indescribably dark. Usually there's moonlight, artificial light, starlight, something, but not here; there's nothing. I try to move, but I am restrained. I listen, but I hear nothing. I smell but I smell only something clinical. If it wasn't for my heart pounding and my lungs racing to catch up, I might imagine I am dreaming, but I'm not. I'm not! I fearfully reach out with my right hand and, afraid of what I might find, I try to resist the temptation to clench my fist. With each centimetre I stretch comes a new level of terror. I reach further and further, shivering in anticipation of what I might find. Shivering allows me to feel the clothes I'm wearing and bringing with it the frightening realisation that I'm not wearing the jeans and shirt I was last night. I'm dressed in something quite different. I bring my hand back, from its outward reach, to touch my waist: it feels like a jacket. I slide it up to my neck. I feel fabric: it's a bowtie. I'm in a suit. I rarely wear suits. Reluctantly I force my hand to resume its search for a clue to where I am. It's an unspeakable dread, not to know what I might find. I reach out my hand. Thud. It hits something. I hesitantly stroke the face of the object that it met. I reach out in another direction. Thud. And then I reach out in another. Thud. Increasingly alarmed by this feeling of being trapped I rub the surfaces with my hand, hoping they will yield some clue to my situation. I feel all around me, but it's futile. My sense of desperation mounts. Realising that senses alone won't help me I try to remember what I did last night. It was my bi... ...ain. There is a slight jolt and I'm stationary. Thank God! There's a low hum, like the hum of machinery, and I'm moving again, but not rocking this time. This time the movement seems quite linear, and as I begin to relaxà ¢Ã¢â€š ¬Ã‚ ¦ There is a roar, like the roar of a furnace which causes my heart to quicken, my lungs to race and my mind to panic. Tiring of this torture, I just want it to end. It's hot. My God it's hot! I begin to perspire; the air thins and I gasp for oxygen. My feet blaze, and suddenly I realise that this is no nightmare; this is no illusion. I scream in agony. Aware of the inferno approaching my feet, I start to convulse, fitting in a futile effort to break free from my constraint. Flames rupture the coffin that restrains me, and the foul smell of burning flesh is masked by the inevitability of death.