MidReal Story
Forgotten Grave: Unraveling Emily's Mysterious Resurrection
Scenario: write me a story about a girl waking up in her grave realizing she is dead but has no idea how she died
Create my version of this story
Dr. Marcus Flynn
forensic pathologist investigating Emily's death, colleague of Detective Harper, tall with sharp features, analytical and skeptical.
Detective Sarah Harper
lead detective on Emily's case, works closely with Dr. Flynn, short with curly red hair, determined and empathetic.
Emily Carter
the girl who wakes up in her grave, no relationships specified, pale with dark circles under her eyes, confused and fearful.
I woke up in my grave.
My eyes snapped open, and I gasped for air, but there was none.
I was in a coffin, buried underground.
Panic set in, and I started to thrash around, but my movements were restricted.
I couldn’t move my arms or legs more than a few inches in any direction.
I was trapped.
My heart raced as I tried to remember how I’d gotten here.
The last thing I could recall was going to bed in my dorm room at the university.
How had I ended up in a coffin?
Was this some kind of sick joke?
A prank by one of my classmates?
I tried to calm myself down and think rationally, but it was hard when I couldn’t breathe properly.
The air was so thin, and it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the small space around me.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to slow my racing heart.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been unconscious or how much air I had left in the coffin, but I knew that I needed to get out soon or I was going to die.
The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me, and I started to thrash around again.
I had to get out of here.
I took a deep breath and tried to sit up, but my head hit the lid of the coffin, stopping me in my tracks.
It was too small in here to sit up properly, and I was getting a crick in my neck from being forced into this awkward position.
I groaned and tried to sit up again, but it was no use.
The best I could do was prop myself up on one elbow and look around.
The inside of the coffin was dark, except for a little bit of light filtering in through the crack where the lid met the bottom half.
I reached out and put my hand against it, but it wouldn’t budge.
Of course it wouldn’t, I thought.
Why would anyone bury me alive and then leave me an easy way out?
I scrambled around, trying to find some other way out, but there didn’t seem to be one.
The walls of the coffin were too smooth for me to get any purchase on them, and I couldn’t feel any kind of latch or handle that I could use to open the lid.
I was trapped down here, with no idea how to get out or what to do next.
My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my chest, and my skin felt clammy with sweat.
I wanted to scream, but the air was so thin that nothing came out when I opened my mouth.
Instead, I let out a strangled cry, the sound echoing off the walls of the coffin and making me even more scared than I already was.
What the fuck is going on?
How did I get here?
Why am I in a coffin?
None of it made any sense to me.
Maybe I was dreaming.
Maybe this wasn’t real.
Maybe if I closed my eyes and counted to ten, I’d wake up in my dorm room with the sun streaming through my window and everything would be back to normal again.
I closed my eyes and started to count, but when I opened them again, nothing had changed.
I was still in a coffin, still buried underground, still scared out of my mind.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I started feeling around the inside of the coffin with my hands, trying to find some kind of release mechanism that would open the lid so I could get out of here.
There had to be something down here with me that could help me escape; all I had to do was find it.
I didn’t know how long I spent feeling around in the darkness—it felt like hours—but eventually my hands touched something hard and metal against one wall of the coffin.
I realize that because I feel like a living corpse, I don't need oxygen to survive. I manage to break the coffin lid, and dirt fills the wooden box.
I pulled myself towards it and felt around it with my fingers; it was a door handle of some kind, set into the side of the coffin.
I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled as hard as I could; to my surprise, it came loose in my hand and I heard a click from somewhere above me.
Excitement surged through me—I’d done it!
I was getting out of here!
I pushed against the lid of the coffin as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge.
I kicked at it with my feet; still nothing.
What’s going on?
Why won’t it open?
Panic surged through me again, but I fought against it.
Panicking used up air that I couldn’t afford to waste—not when I didn’t know how long it was going to be before I got out of here.
I took a deep breath and tried to think things through logically: I’d found some kind of release mechanism that should have opened the lid of the coffin, but it hadn’t worked for some reason.
Maybe I needed to reset it somehow?
I pushed against the lid again to make sure it was really stuck; when it didn’t move an inch, I started feeling around for that door handle again so I could pull it and unlock the mechanism that would let me out of here.
Something felt strange about that mechanism: I’d expected there to be more resistance when I pulled on it, but there hadn’t been any at all—it had been like pulling on an empty socket when you’re trying to turn on a lamp that isn’t plugged in.
That’s because there was nothing you could pull: You were just imagining things because you were so desperate to find a way out of here.
Panic surged through me once more as that thought hit home: What if there really was no way out?
What if I was trapped down here forever?
What if I never got out?
A fresh wave of tears sprang to my eyes at that thought: I didn’t want to die like this!
I didn’t want to die at all!
I pushed against the lid of the coffin again and again, but it stayed stuck.
I didn’t know what else to do except lie back and wait to die.
As my breathing slowed down and my panic receded, my thoughts started to get fuzzy and confused.
I thought about all the things I’d never get to do now: all the places I’d never get to see, all the people I’d never get to meet, all the experiences I’d never get to have.
I wanted to cry or scream or curse whoever had done this to me, but what was the point?
As my thoughts started to slow down again and my eyes drooped shut once more, something occurred to me: Wait a minute…
Coffins have air tubes in them now, don’t they?
If there’s an air tube in here somewhere, that might be my way out.
My eyes snapped open and I started feeling around in a frenzy once more; if there was an air tube in here somewhere, then maybe there was a way out after all!
My hands closed around something long and thin—there it was!
It was just out of reach of my fingers, but maybe if I stretched really hard…
My hands closed around something long and thin—there it was!
I shifted my position so I could stretch my arm out as far as it would go and still reach it, but no matter how hard I reached or how much I stretched, it still wasn’t long enough.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I sat back up and tried pushing against the coffin lid again, but it was no use: it wasn’t going anywhere.
Everything I did just made it shift a little more to one side or another so that some of the earth above me fell into the coffin on top of me.
Even though it wasn’t very much earth—only a few grains each time—it still made me cough each time it happened because of how dry and dusty it was.
And every time it happened, it just made me feel like there was even less air left than before.
That’s when it really hit me: There really was no way out.
I’m really going to die.
I’m going to suffocate down here in this coffin and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I tried pushing against the coffin lid one more time in a burst of panic and desperation: I don’t know what I thought would happen when I did that—maybe that it would open up because I’d been mistaken about how stuck it was before—but it just made even more earth fall into the coffin on top of me so that I started coughing even harder than before and gasping for breath.
When my coughing finally subsided and I lay back down in exhaustion and defeat, I had to fight to keep from coughing or gagging any more than I already had because I didn’t have enough air left to do that.
It felt like there were a hundred rubber bands tied around my chest and throat and they were all squeezing tighter and tighter so that my breathing felt more and more constricted each time I tried to take a breath.
Despite how hard it was to breathe—and how much my head hurt from lack of oxygen—I knew I had to keep fighting for as long as I could because I didn’t want to die down here: Somewhere out there, there had to be a way out; I just had to find it!
Despite everything that had happened so far and everything that still might happen next, I refused to give up hope that there was still a way out of this alive.
Even though my head was spinning and my vision was starting to blur from lack of air and I couldn’t think straight anymore no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on what I should do next, I forced myself to calm down and take deep breaths so I would stop wasting what little precious air I had left…and started thinking.
If there wasn’t an air tube in here somewhere like you thought there was—because you were wrong about that—then maybe there was a different way out after all.
