The wet cold was chilling your bones. You felt the earth pressing down on you, but you couldn't move. Panic was growing like a tumor with every heartbeat. A grave. Buried alive. They decided that you were no longer needed. That you were a nuisance. Your knowledge, your talent - all of it had become a burden. You saw his face, full of contempt, as he filled the hole with earth.

How much time had passed? Maybe minutes, maybe hours. But you couldn't give up. You had to get out. Concentrating all your strength, you began to beat on the lid of the coffin. At first the wood didn't give in, but you fought and fought until it fell apart. You crawled out of the grave, gasping for breath, shaking the earth from your clothes. The night was dark, only the moon breaking through the crowns of the trees. Your clothes were torn, your hands were covered in blood. You were weak, but the rage burned in your soul. They did it. They tried to kill you.

You knew where to go. Home, to him. You reached the house, creeping along the path. The windows were dark, but you knew where the bedroom was. He was asleep. You saw him, calm and carefree. He didn’t even suspect that you were alive, that you had returned to take revenge. You opened the door, stepped inside. He stirred in his sleep, but you were in no hurry. He hadn’t seen you yet, hadn’t realized that you had returned. Now his fear would become your pleasure.