Digging My Grave Novels & Stories

I grabbed a thick stick from the ground and started to dig. My hands were reddish and my nails were stained with dirt, but I kept digging. I pushed the fox into the shallow hole and covered it with earth. I used the stick to pat the dirt down, making a small mound. I sat there in the dirt for hours, staring at that tiny grave. I wished I could bury my own pain—and every other thing—just as easily. But I knew I couldn't. I knew that the only thing that would stop the burning in my chest was finding Dilan.

“And you still kept digging?” She let out a humorless laugh. “Of course I did. And then my career mysteriously imploded overnight. No one would touch my work. I was blacklisted from every major publication.” Leo let out a low whistle. “Sounds like Calloway cut you loose the second you became a liability.” Ava clenched her fists. “That bastard ruined my career.” Damian leaned back against his desk, expression unreadable. “And now you have proof he’s in bed with Holloway.”

"Slower," Rainer said. "You'll crack the lid." Jose stopped. He was standing in a hole up to his thighs, shovel in both hands, and he'd been digging for forty minutes without a sound that wasn't breathing. The dirt here was loose. It had been turned, tamped, and turned again. It came away in clumps that smelled of cold iron and leaf rot, and every time the blade went in it met nothing. "How far?"

The fire that had been roaring over the mansion started to hiss and die down, the downpour acting as a cold, indifferent blanket over the ruins of my life. I eventually stood up, moving like a puppet on strings. I found a shovel in the gardening shed near the edge of the estate and walked to the center of the garden, the place where my mother used to sit in the sun. I began to dig. Every time the blade hit the mud, a sob escaped my chest. The more I dug, the harder I cried, the dirt staining my hands and clothes until I was as much a part of the earth as they were about to be.

I could have lived, but because of that one phone call, I'd given up on survival. Maybe it was because I'd been a ghost for too long—my memory had started to fade. I couldn't really remember anymore why that call had made me lose the will to live. "My condolences," the doctor added. He started wheeling my body back into the morgue. Just then, Anthony lost control of his emotions. He grabbed my shoulders in a death grip. "Willow Shore, wake up! You're lying to me again, aren't you?" The doctor rushed forward to stop him, but Anthony shoved him away. He scooped my body up into his arms and completely broke down. Tears streamed down his face.

"I buried him. I will unbury him." We dug in silence. The work was grueling. The ground was hard from the winter frost. We fell into a rhythm. Dig. Lift. Toss. My muscles burned. Sweat trickled down my back despite the cold. After an hour we hit wood. The thud of the shovel against the coffin lid stopped us both. I dropped my shovel. I jumped down into the grave. I brushed the dirt away with my gloved hands. The wood was rot resistant pine. It was stained and warped but intact.

“Enlighten me.” “It gets buried.” She straightened, smoothed her white dress, and walked out without looking back. The door clicked shut. He buries them. The words echoed in the silence. A cold sweat slid down my spine. My hand rose to my throat as the confidence I’d worn like armor began to crack. I crawled out of my grave once. If Mark ever finds out who I really am— this time, there wouldn't be a second resurrection.

She fell to the ground and I sat on top of her. “You cannot get away from me,” I told her while still on top of her. I hit her head on the ground repeatedly until she lost consciousness. Finally, she’s not moving and she is not fighting back. I listen to her heart just to make sure that she is still alive because I want to bury her alive. I went to my mother’s car and opened the compartment to get the shovel and went back to her. To where she is lying down. I dug her grave before I finished. I heard the voice of the woman who answered me a while ago with a man who is the same age as the woman. Looking for Rachel with a flashlight. I hide in the tall grass because I don’t want them to see me

He chuckled . " You didn't say that you knew your medicine , neither did you tell your Dad as much ! Did you ?" " Guilty as charged ! However , you must agree with me that it could have been vainglorious to say anything not knowing about your response ." " Omg ! Am I to blame for delaying my response for something that is not even a day old? Thread carefully , Mr. Desperate !" More chuckling .

I coughed, "You wouldn't- happen to have a shovel with you, do you?" "I do- it's around here, somewhere..." "Alright, Maurice, mark the spot so you don't forget, I need you to dig me out," "Trust me, lady, Your grave is unique, it's not hard to miss," What did he mean? "Can you please elaborate on that," "Whoever buried you out here was in a rush, there is no headstone." I hear his heartbeat become faint, Why would need a headstone? I am not dead, someone is just playing a sick game with me.