They place a matchbook in my pocket.
"Here, it gets dark down there," they laugh sadistically among themselves, tossing me inside the wooden box.

They drop my coffin in the ground.
I hear them shovelling dirt over it, giggling and such.
It's pitch black inside, no semblance of light.
I reach for the matches in my pocket. Ready to strike one.
When I remember they soaked my clothes in gasoline...

- Sunny