“Help!” She shouted weakly, hands exhausted from banging on the lid of the wooden box she was buried in. Coughing, she made another attempt at shouting “help” but all it came out was a whimper.

How long have I been here? She wondered. How long do I have left?

Exhaling a shaky breath as tears trailed from the corner of her eyes, she sobbed, “I’m going to die here,” aren’t I?

Approximately six feet above the wooden box where she lay, a child shoveled a large scoop of white sand into his blue bucket. His father knelt next to him, grinning, “What ya making, bud?”

“A sand castle.” The boy shrugged. “Do you want to help me build it, daddy?”

“Sure, bud, just tell me what to do.”

“When is mommy going to be here?”

“Oh, I’m sure mommy’s going to show up at any moment.” Oh, she’s here, all right, he thought with a smile, six feet under.

#writephoto

Bucket – Image by KL Caley