[100 word horror fiction] All black.

I feel the grain of wood on all sides of me; am I in a box?

How long have I been here?

What did that bitch do to me?

Pound the top … where am I?

HELP. HELP ME.

Air’s thin; can’t breathe well.

Hard to think.

HELP.

Push. Push HARD.

Can’t breathe.

It’s like I can hear my mom yell at me, as I came home from school … what was I, nine?

So hard to think.

Can’t breathe.

“Mr. Grove, it’s a boy.” I cried that day.

HELP.

Oh God.

What the hell have I.

Can’t.