I opened my eyes only to see the blackness I had long associated with midnight. I rubbed my eyes wearily; too many times had I woken up in the dead of night for no reason whatsoever. It's a horrible insomnia, worse than not falling asleep at all because you then realize just how sweet the sleep you're losing is.

I sighed, raising my head a little from the pillow. I instantly regretted it, for my head was suddenly filled with an intense throbbing. I rested it again, wondering why this was so; I couldn't remember hitting my head.

I groaned and attempted to roll onto my side and try to sleep again, but the wall prevented this. I groaned again, and rolled onto my other side, but again to no avail.

I froze. My bed wasn't next to any walls.

Where in hell was I?

I've never been claustrophobic; I could never see how people can live with such an irrational fear. But as I tossed and turned, I suddenly understood. Panic took hold of me as I realized that I was trapped, like a wild animal caught in a snare.

Something strange happens to you when you realize your life is at stake. Rationality fades away; the futility of the situation doesn't matter anymore, because the improbable hope of escape is more hope than nothing.

I screamed and beat on the walls and lid with my fists, tore at the fabric sides with my fingernails. I knew it was futile; I knew I probably couldn't escape. But I did it anyways, because I didn't want to die, and I wasn't about to without a fight. Forget that you cannot fight with an inanimate object, that point is null when you're on the brink of your sanity.

But hope can fade so quickly, for in my vain struggles I had struck the play button of a portable cassette player that had escaped my notice in my panic. Hearing the muffled audio, I frantically stuck the headphones in my ears and rewound the tape to the beginning.

"Hello, Miss Young. I hope you like the casket we purchased; extravagant, is it not?" My breath caught in my throat and a chill shot down my spine at the man's cold, mocking tone. "We're sorry to have to involve you in this struggle. But your father's political agendas are frowned upon by our party; you were the perfect leverage for our scheme. At the time you are no more than an asset.

"Don't worry, your family has been informed of your disappearance. However, considering the increasing rate of oxygen depletion in your coffin, when they finally do meet our demands it will be too late for you. But fear not - pride yourself in the fact that you are single-handedly going to tear down your father's political empire. Thanks so much."

So there I lie - six feet under in some secluded patch of land, a mere tool to the downfall of my father. My newfound taphephobia is slowly tearing at my sanity with every strike against the hard wood sides. I know every scream, every strike, every tear is in vain. I know I'm going to die. But maybe if I manage to break the edge of my sanity, death won't be so bad.