Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2168359-One-step-away-from-the-plan
by RusAD
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #2168359
I was a government agent. And I needed to die. What could have possibly gone wrong?
I needed to die. The reasons for it are now kept in a folder on some shelf deep in the basement of some government facility with a “Top Secret” label attached to it, so I am not in a position to give out any of them. But trust me, the reasons were there, and they were solid.

The plan was simple and fail-proof… Or so I was told. I had to be injected with some vaccine-juice that would paralyze me, slow down all of my bodily functions, but still leave me conscious. I haven’t asked much about why exactly was it necessary, but I’ve overheard that it has something to do with preserving my brain. I’m all in for not becoming an idiot after that operation, so I was happy with that. In the beginning. After the injection, I would've been handed to my relatives, who would've had me delivered to a crematorium, as I demanded in my will. From there, my body would've been transferred to the facility to receive the antidote, and my relatives would've retrieved some charcoal disguised as my remains. Of course, every doctor to diagnose my decease, every worker in the crematorium and every person to drive the vehicle transporting me should’ve been from our agency for the plan to succeed.

But they couldn’t account for one small detail...

The start of the plan worked perfectly. I was injected with some nasty smelling substance, and soon after I couldn’t move any muscle in my body. I was still able to hear everything and vaguely feel the touches, but my eyelids were closed so that my eyes won’t lose much water, and my breathing was too shallow to catch any smell. It was pretty scary at first, but I got used to it. After all, I trusted my bosses and everything was going according to the plan.

My transfer to the hospital went without any hurdles, as well as my death diagnosis, according to which I suffered a heart attack leading to a cardiac arrest, and resuscitation procedures didn’t have any effect. By that time my thoughts were slowed down by that injection, so for me, the time in the Ambulance and the hospital flew by not leaving much trace in my memory. But the wait in the morgue until my relatives was to get all the papers needed to retrieve my body wasn’t that fast and pleasant.

The cold from the freezer was quite unpleasant but bearable. Although with the conjunction of full-body paralysis and a bunch of dead bodies in the same room it was a bit frightful. But the worst thing was boredom. My mind was working so lazily and slowly that I couldn’t grasp even a remotely entertaining idea to think about and develop. And as such a couple of extremely long and tedious days passed by.

When my relatives finally proceed to take my body from there, I felt a huge relief. At least some people will be nearby at most times so I would be able to overhear some conversations. I admit I was quite curious about what my family was going to say about me when I'm no longer around. But what I heard was much, much more disturbing than anything I ever imagined of these speeches.

They decided to ignore my will.

They decided that cremating my corpse was in conflict with their traditions. "Burning a body? It's some barbaric nonsense! The only correct way to handle a passed over person is to bury him close to his ancestors!"

I didn't clearly understand what my relatives were talking about when I heard them saying things like that. My sedated brain couldn't comprehend such betrayal from the closest ones. But then they elaborated how they were going to transport me to the cemetery the day before my cremation was scheduled, what prayers they booked and essentially how all the funeral would have been orchestrated.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry so badly. I wished I had the telepathy, I wished I wasn't completely paralyzed, I craved for making at least a single sound to indicate that I haven't really died yet. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.

I hoped that some bugs were installed in my house that I wasn't aware of. I wanted to believe that my coworkers would race into the funeral and snitch my coffin from the hands of these traitors. One of my greatest desires at that moment was for my government to eavesdrop on my family and me! I came up with a bunch of scenarios that could've saved me, but I wasn't in control to bring any of them into reality.

I had my hopes up when the coffin with myself inside was moved into a truck that drove me to who knows where. I waited for a savior when my body was carried across the funeral to a grave which was soon to become mine. I was still searching for the smallest light of hope when my coffin was lowered into the hole in the ground.

I slipped from the verge of optimism when the dirt started hitting the lid from the outside. At first, I was mad at them. Who gave them the right to deny me the choice of my resting place? Those bastards don't even realize they essentially killed me, they think of themselves as heroes, keepers of their damned traditions that nobody in the right mind cares about! Oh, what glorious pictures my mind painted when I started thinking about everyone who approved this decision being put in my position, helpless, gasping for the last bits of oxygen, being eaten alive by the maggots and having not even a slightest chance for the rescue!

But then I calmed down. Despair and frustration flowed into me as the dam of courage crumbled, sending my mind into the darkest pits of hopelessness. I cried internally. I screamed, squealed, yelled and shrieked without a single sound dropping from my lips. Even after all the outside sounds stopped, I continued my silent song of sorrow.

There was no reason to be angry. That is my position and only mine. It was I who had no way to escape. The effect of that injection doesn't wear off with time, only the neutralizing agent could help. I listened as carefully as I could for any signs of movement above me or, if I'm lucky enough, someone digging me out. But nobody will probably start searching for me for at least another day, as everything is still going according to the plan for the head office, they won't be bothered until I fail to arrive at the crematory.

But even after that... Would they worry at all? Or would they just shrug and check me as the one who died, honorably serving the nation, while sending another trooper for the same task? Or would they even bother saying any honoring words about me? It's way easier just to dispose of me as a failure that couldn't even finish such a simple task. Not even the coworkers, the supposed friends of mine, would probably trouble themselves thinking about me...

I don't mind dying anymore if it is quicker than this torture. The other side is approaching, but not fast enough. I hope I'll go crazy soon, my sound mind cannot bear this situation. Oh, how I wish now for blissful oblivion, for my brain to turn off and stop perceiving this horrendous scenario! The wait here, in total darkness and silence, is intolerable. Can I just run out of the oxygen? Can a stone fall through the wood of this wooden box and clog my breath? Can some worms quickly eat my brains or heart out? Something, just anything but this state of being abandoned here without any chance for the rescue. I would give an arm and a leg, hell, even both arms and legs, just for something to happen to me.

But not like this. Please! Someone! Something!...
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