Dead or Alive pt 5
It was certainly going to be a long wait that was for sure. A gangly man with a rifle and a hip pocket full of kryptonite bullets lay on a wide limb a hundred yards from the newly buried grave.
The tombstone wasn’t readable from there. It had been donated by the United Nations. It was a large, smooth marble stone, carved in the shape of the superhero, Superman. It was engraved with what was known about him.
‘Here lies Superman, the Kryptonian visitor who performed 89,537,264 recorded rescues. He saved more lives than have died in all the wars in recorded history. Single handedly he reduced the annual mortality and crime rates around the world. Every country on earth has benefited from his example and his service to mankind.’
Clark lay in the darkness. His life would soon come to an end, he was sure. The kryptonite would destroy him in his tomb. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He turned his head slightly, looking for the kryptonite that had taken away his powers. He couldn’t see it. There was no glow in the box. It was completely dark. He tried his heat vision, but nothing happened. Would he die in this grave?
What had he been thinking, anyway? Why had he been stupid enough to get in the box? Why had he even faked his own death, anyway? The world was lucky to be rid of a superhero with the amount of brains he’d displayed lately. He had to get out of here. He’d noticed the flash of light for a moment awhile ago when the lid had been opened. The light hadn’t been too bright, so he’d not been able to see anything. Lois’ words had been unmistakable though, as she’d removed the red kryptonite from his hand.
Now, no matter what happened, he’d not fooled her, the only one that it really mattered about fooling. His parents were at the funeral. He’d heard their heartbeats. So was Perry. They all knew he wasn’t dead. They’d probably be waiting for the right time to dig him up, that is, unless he got out first.
It was sure dark. His body was aching. The effect of the red kryptonite was wearing off and the lingering effect of the green was still apparent.
He wiggled slightly. It felt good to move. Something was under his shoulder. There wasn’t much room in the coffin, but he found that he could roll over slightly if he was careful. He reached his hand up to feel what was there. A number of items scooted out from under him as he shifted about. He’d not noticed them being placed beside him. However, so many people had touched him and bent down to kiss him in the past few days. Just remembering some of them made him feel filthy. He raised his arm to wipe his mouth on his sleeve.
He pulled one item out and felt it. It was cylindrical. His night vision wasn’t working. He felt along its short length. It had a tiny bump on one side near the end. He felt it with his fingernail. It moved when he pushed on it. Suddenly his temporary home was brightly illuminated. He smiled. A flashlight. Of course. What else would a dead man need when he was buried? He wondered who had been so thoughtful.
He leaned over out of the way again, feeling for what had rolled back under his neck and the edge of the satin pillow beneath his head.
A candy. He smiled and unwrapped the small piece of chocolate, popping it into his mouth. He turned off his little light to conserve its battery. No telling how long it would last. He lay smiling, thinking of the thousands of people who had paid him their respects over the past few days. Someone had dropped that piece of candy beside him. Was it that young girl? He’d felt something unusual when she’d touched him. Perhaps she’d left the flashlight. He thought however, that the flashlight had come from the Indian woman who’d whispered something to him about the light of the hereafter. Yes, she’d given him the flashlight. ‘May you be surrounded by light, eternally.’ Was that what she’d said?
He’d not thought he’d have any resources while he was waiting for the right time to spring from his tomb. Perhaps people hadn’t believed he was really dead. After all, it was a well known fact that Superman can’t die. At least, not unless he’d been weakened by kryptonite first.
He wasn’t sure how well that secret had been kept. Lex Luthor had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure it was published around the world, just in case he ever had any trouble disposing of Superman himself.
The chocolate was having an excellent effect. He felt a bit of his strength returning. So far it was just his normal strength, but it was definitely an improvement. He wiggled around trying to find out what else was in the box with him. He found three more chocolates.
He was twisting as far as he could, his shoulder inadvertently pushing hard against the satin lined, soft lid of his bed. Suddenly the platform that held his bed up at the top of the large coffin collapsed. He was surprised until he remembered lying on the embalming bed, watching the way the box and his own thickness were measured. Two men had leaned over the coffin and made adjustments. He’d thought they were just arranging the satin lining, but as he thought back, he remembered hearing four slight clicks. They’d been hanging the bed at the right height before putting him in it.
He rolled over. Well, this was definitely an improvement. He had a lot more air than he’d counted on and it was much better to have a bit more room, too. The pillow was quite comfortable, so he settled himself back down on his side with his flashlight. He shone it around, thinking how comical the Good Lord must have thought he was, savoring these small treasures when he was being buried alive.
He recalled an email he’d received once. It had explained that in England long ago, when bones had been removed from coffins to bone boxes, scratches had been found on the insides of the coffin lids. Because of the high incidence of live burials, strings were tied to the wrists of the dead, which connected to a bell in the cemetery. A watchman was hired to work the graveyard shift, to listen for any bells ringing for perhaps a week after someone had been buried. (Saved by the bell) Eventually it was discovered that drinking ale from a pewter pitcher would cause deathlike symptoms. After that the bodies were laid out for several days in what they called the wake, to wait for the person to recover or begin to decompose.
A bell would be quite handy in a time like this, actually. How had he gotten himself into this situation again? He rolled around a bit, pushing a selection of items out of the way and puffed his pillow, yawned and curled up on his side, at least as much as he could without having room to bend his legs far.
In a few minutes he was fast asleep. Perhaps if he ever got out of this mess, Lois would forgive him and take him back. He wouldn’t hold his breath waiting, though. Well, maybe holding his breath was a good idea. He woke briefly to reduce himself to hibernation state, then fell asleep again.
When he awoke a few days later in what his body was telling him was the morning, Clark felt quite refreshed and energetic. His hand hit the top of his cocoon as it had for the past few days when he’d woken up in the closed box. He had always x-rayed through it to see what was happening around him before the burial. Today was different. His hearing and his vision were limited to the dark box underground. He could feel the dampness. At least the box was big enough.
He remembered Lois relating how she’d hidden in a coffin once and been buried alive with a man who was being broken out of jail. She’d spent hours fighting him off. He’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven. She’d described it more as hell.
Usually it didn’t take long until the lid of his box was opened. It would be just after sunrise when people who had camped in line all night could resume paying their respects to Superman. The memory made him feel incredibly guilty. What could have possessed him to do this in the first place?
He found his flashlight and looked around for some more candy. He found some by his feet, hidden in the folds of the creamy satin fabric.
What he needed was some sunlight. He knew that he was feeling much better already, though. It wouldn’t take long before his super powers came back into full swing.
A quiet ringing sounded. He thought he was hearing things. He chuckled as he remembered the men who were saved by the bell during the graveyard shift. He found his flashlight again and looked around. Behind his knee was a small cell phone. He laughed aloud.
He sat up and retrieved it, shining his small light on it. Now, did he answer it? Who would be calling a dead man locked in a buried coffin? It could be his mother or father. Lois perhaps? Perry? Or was it one of Lex Luther’s pranks to find out if he were alive? He held it gingerly and brought it up to his face. He couldn’t see the fingerprints clearly enough to make out if he recognized them. He’d have to wait until his superpowers came back on again. However, by then, he wouldn’t need a cell phone.
In addition, if he did answer it, what should he say? “Clark Kent?” he smiled and lay back down, placing the phone gingerly on the edge of the bed. He should really get back into hibernation mode to save air.
He’d been keeping his latent claustrophobia at bay, not allowing himself to dwell on the feeling that threatened to overwhelm him at times. He’d been closed into the ship when he’d left Krypton. It was the one fear that he had. It had kept him from taking airplanes most of his life. It kept him from owning a car or from pretending he was dead so he could be buried alive. What had possessed him to put himself in this situation?
He thought back to the day Lois had convinced him to go along with her to the morgue. He recalled the piece of red kryptonite he’d had. How long had he had it? He tried to remember. It had lain in a lead box for a long time. He’d had it since he’d first found out that the stuff affected him. Perry’s son had given him some, that’s right.
It always made him apathetic. It took away emotional pain. It was his own little Kryptonian drug.
When had he taken it out of the box and put it in his pocket? The day he’d fallen from Lois window? Or was it before that? Was that why he’d dropped her when they’d been sleeping in the clouds? He hadn’t dropped her, he’d just stopped holding her. It was a matter of linguistics really, but the outcome had been the same. It made sense, though, if he’d found it before that, he wouldn’t have been as careful as he usually…as he always was with Lois.
He fell asleep again, obviously more tired than he’d realized. It helped to be in a nice dark, warm, soft bed. Coffins obviously weren’t built for dead people. How many other people had been buried alive, he wondered as he drifted into dreamland.
