The first breath filled my lungs with acidic earthily particles of long undisturbed soil and organic waste. To the back of my throat, stuck the foreign matter, causing a riptide of spasms and neck vein-throbbing coughs; a feeble auto-response to dislodge the discomfort. Yet, not an unwelcome one.
My fingers curled around an object my brain failed to place. Something alien yet, at the same time, familiar. Hard edged, square, firm, and weighty. A mass with substance and presence; a tome.
With what strength I could muster, I raised this tome, skeletal fingers indenting the outer protective shell, the binders board now bearing the eternal scars of my struggle as I pushed/pulled towards the surface. The desecrated coffin crumbled, offering no resistance.
Welcome back to the blog.
Resurrected on Halloween.
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