Happiness

(I'm fourteen and had to write this for English.  Would be good to get some feedback, thanks).

Darkness. All I could see was darkness. I could feel that I was lying down, and with a short, shallow laugh, I realised that the black that filled my vision was in fact, just the inside of my eyelids. After I opened them, I thought that I might as well have kept them shut. After brief seconds, attempting to acclimatize to the low light-level, I went to sit up.  However, my head collided with something solid and hollow, making a deep, reverberating vibration. It was probably something wooden. I relaxed again, and ran my fingers alongside the edge of my body, feeling a rough, splintering material: definitely wooden. I now grasped the fact, with horror that I was trapped.

Interrupting my panic was a soothing, familiar scent that reminded me of my profession, that of the grave digger at St. Ebenezer’s Church.  It was a rotting, yet bittersweet odour; like that of the decaying, end-of-autumn leaves, trodden into the ground. Breaking out of my trance, I decided to act.

Like a long-caged beast, seeing the possibility of escape, I kicked outwards with all my might. The low roof shifted upwards slightly, and now encouraged, I repeated the action. Whatever was above me came away with a scraping, grinding din, that echoed loudly around the room, and I almost squealed in delight. But my euphoria was short-lived, as the room I was in was hardly any brighter, lit only by the coloured rays of light that danced along the opposite wall. Peculiarly shaped spectrums highlighted dust particles, floating to-and-fro in the air like dizzy, overjoyed children. But overjoyed at what?

I clambered out of the container and afforded myself a glance back over my shoulder. Resting on a faded stone table, overlaid by a glaring, ash-coloured cross was a box, the lid slightly askew. This was my territory, and the confusion I had been victim of for the last few minutes, fell away.

I knew exactly where I was.

Although the container itself was not colossal, it cast an immense presence across the room, calling me towards it.  Its splintered, toothless jaws had tried to envelop me; I had been its prey, but I had escaped, leaving it to rue its missed opportunity.

Abruptly, I realised that I had never thought to question myself about how I had got where I now was. Had I fallen asleep? Had someone brought me here? A thousand questions raced through my mind, searching for answers.

I attempted to make my way outside, through the doors that I knew would be there, that I had opened time after time. I felt for the rusting iron handle and turned it. The scraping sound it made would normally have made me wince with irritation, but it was a relaxing, familiar sound in this time of unknowing, and darkness.

Stepping out into what was left of the light outside, I peered upwards at the pointed spire, and gazed outwards at the hundreds of scripted stones, many of which, I had erected myself.  Saint Ebenezer’s Church and Cemetery: my second home. I remembered now. This is where I had been going before… before whatever it was that had happened to me that had resulted in me lying in a box, on an altar. I shuddered.

Following the dying sun’s last pointing fingers of light, I made my way towards the small, algae-covered pond, that had long since said goodbye to its last duck, or fish.  It was the place widows went to mix their salty droplets with the freshwater, where rejected lovers came to weep alone. The recent wind that had howled and scratched at my face, when I was digging my last hole, had pushed the green algae film to one side, leaving a gap of clear water.  Bending over to stare into the reflective, liquid mirror, I could see my own pale reflection gazing back at me. The fiery setting sun tinged the water red, giving my face a monstrous complexion. But even as I was watching it, the reflection became gradually harder to make out, and the sun finally disappeared from view, leaving the entire setting in an unwanted blanket of darkness.

Looking at my wrist watch, I saw the time was half past six and I decided that it was too dark  and unclear to make my way back home to the flat I rented, and came to the conclusion that I would stay overnight.

Later, inside the church, as I tucked myself into my makeshift bed, I took one last look at the coffin that had trapped me. The lid was closed and seemingly sealed. Wait. I didn’t remember pushing the top back into place. How had it happened? Anyway, now wasn’t the time for asking new questions. There was probably a reasonable explanation behind this occurrence. I must have just pushed it to in my urgency to clamber out. I closed my eyes, remembering the last time they had been shut, and snuggled down into the motley collection of seat padding and embroidered cushions arranged on the church pews.

I yawned. Stretching, I stood up. It was still dark, but night was soon to become dawn. I had wanted to sleep for longer, but on the bright side, I could watch as the sun climbed to the peak of the horizon, planting its flag that signalled the start of another day. I was still wearing my grubby work clothes, and I would have to change soon. Once again I opened the doors at the fore of the building and stepped outside. Despite having spent the last quarter of a century working here, only now did I notice just how menacing and stern the church looked. But then, a miraculous change occurred: as the bright ball of fire started to show its confident brow above the hillside, Saint Ebenezer’s became a hopeful, positive, almost jolly landmark.

Once again, I ambled over to the pond and gazed into the unusually clean water. My reflection had lost its crimson tinge, and I could now see myself, standing there, with nothing more than a ghostly frown looking back at me. My normally insipid skin was even more grey than normal, almost emanating a dim glow. Perturbed by my seemingly changed appearance, I left the place with haste. I was going to tidy up then leave for home.

Placing the last cushion back into place, and realigning the pews, I left empty handed, as I had not awoken with any form of hand-luggage. I stepped through the open doorway and locked the door with the spare keys, (under the plant-pot next to the Mary statue), before making my way towards the tarnished gate at the end of the pathway that led to the front door. I promptly unlocked, opened, closed, and relocked the gate, and walked down the winding lane towards the main road, where the hubbub of the in-town farmers’ market was taking place.

People. The last time I had seen anyone other than my own reflection was on my early morning journey to the church, whenever that had actually been. As usual, the elderly lady who lived in the last cottage before the grounds began had said hello to me as she obsessively tended to her plants and flowers. I was coming up to her house now. She would probably be outside again in the next hour.

In actual fact, she was already outside, watering-can in hand, scissors in the other. I called to attract her attention, but she remained fixed to her task. I called again, and this time, she looked up. Her face went white, casting a stark contrast in comparison to her multi-coloured vegetation. I was now only a few metres away, so I could hear her whispered words:

“Stay away from me.”

I tried to calm her, gently moving closer, arms outstretched. She turned tail and ran, flinging her well-kept door open, and slamming it shut behind her. She ran straight into her front room, snatching the curtains shut. I pressed my face against the glass, ending its pristine run of cleanliness, and tapped the glass. What had I done to warrant this reaction? I couldn’t understand it, and walked on in confusion.

As I approached the turn of the road, a man and his dog appeared around the corner. The dog was wrapped in a luminous, reflective vest and the man was wearing darkly-shaded glasses. Oh. I moved to the side, allowing a large enough space for the two to come past. As they got nearer, the animal’s steps became cautious and unsure. From its throat came a warning growl and it half-turned around. Hearing the dog’s signs of unease, the man spoke out:

“What’s the matter?” he asked the uneasy creature. “Is there something there?”

The dog’s reply was a high-pitched whine. It then began to walk across the road, with its owner in tow. Luckily, there was no traffic this early in the morning, and they made it to the opposite side unscathed. Here, the dog hurried its master on until they were out of sight. I wanted to call after them, but a subconscious voice told me it would not be the best idea.

I continued onwards. Crossing the road, and stepping up onto the kerb of the pavement, I bumped into someone, sending  what looked like several envelopes spiralling to the ground. I hastily gathered them up, and placed them back into the grasp of the man who stood before me. Finally, someone I knew. Thomas the postman, old reliable Tom. I raised a hand in greeting. He remained still, letters in hand, before shaking his head, and striding briskly past me.

“Tom?” Why were people reacting to me in this way? For no reason I could justify to myself, I decided that I didn’t want to go home; I felt I needed to go back to the church. Maybe the building held some answers.  Besides, I felt strangely at ease there. I turned, and went back towards the looming spire, that was still visible in the distance.

This time, instead of carefully opening the church gate, I vaulted straight over, and marched up to the door. After twisting the key in the lock, I pulled it open, and walked with purpose over to the coffin. I clawed at the sides of the lid, trying to remove it, but I had no grip, and it wouldn’t budge. I took a few steps back, calming myself. But was I really ready to face what was inside? Would there even be anything there? There was only one way to find out. My overriding impulse was to force the lid open.

I retook my stance at the deathbed-side and looked for some extra strength to open it with. My finger nails, bruised and broken, pulled at the wood, and with one last heave, it came away. In one fluid motion I threw the plank onto the floor.

Inside, lying there, calm and still, trouble free, was a body: my body. My instant reaction was to recoil in horror, but then, an over-whelming sense of calm came over me, and I realised, that actually, beneath the horror, I felt something else: A kind of happiness. I’d always worked with the dead, spent longer with them than living beings, and now I was with them. I was dead; beautifully, darkly dead.