Buried: A Black Butler shabiki Fiction
Chapter One: Saved
It was dark, pitch black. There wasn’t an ounce of sunlight. Even though I couldn’t see, I knew the space I was in was a confined one. I could feel all the walls pressed up against me. With a hesitant, shaky hand I reached out and traced the cheap splintering wood. I couldn’t remember anything, and the claustrophobia was getting to me. I took in several sharp breaths, and screamed for help. I could tell I was in a coffin, and that if I was under three feet deep there wasn’t a chance anyone could hear me. I also realized that me screaming my head off wasn’t exactly improving the oxygen level.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the left side of my head beginning to throb. Then I had a flashback.
It went kwa too quickly to catch any of it, but it left me shivering. I only could decipher two things.
One: My name was called Rayne, and almost everyone I knew had called me Rayne.
Two: In the last memorable moments of my life were of me falling, quite a distance.
The rest was a blur. I didn’t know my last name, au who had aliyopewa me the nick-name Rayne. I didn’t remember any of my family, au friends.
The only thing I really remembered were basic things I would have learned in school, and maybe a few other sub-conscious things.
I sat in silence, attempting to force myself to remember. But my attempts were as insubstantial as a kilima inayofuata to a mountain.
It was a while before anything noticeable happened. Time was just a thing that I couldn’t calculate at the moment, so I have no clue as to how long I lay as still as a corpse in that coffin.
Then I felt something slither over my exposed ankle, hundreds of tiny legs tickling my skin in an unpleasant way. I squeezed my eyes shut and shuttered, trying desperately not to scream. There was a low, sharp clicking sound down kwa where the creature was, and an image of a long centipedes, centipede with its translucent yellow legs and feelers crossed my mind. I couldn’t help it. Some girlish squeamish instinct made me scream, rather loudly. The feeling passed, although the ghost of the prickling sensation remained on my leg, raising goosebumps.
Then, something both scary and extraordinary happened. A couple specks of dirt fell from one of the many cracks in the lid of the coffin and onto my face. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head, trying to get them off.
Then there was light.
It was just a tiny little ray, falling through one of the cracks. Then another ray of crisp golden sunlight appeared. And another. And another. Soon, I was bathed in the bright rays of sun, and then, with a creek, the lid opened.
I inhaled sharply, hoping that this wasn’t a dream, that I was really free.
There was, indeed, a man standing above me. He was eclipsed kwa the sun behind him, the contrast between his dark clothing and the harsh sunlight made him no zaidi than a silhouette, a dark shadow.
He stood there for a moment, and then he finally spoke. “Well isn't this odd.” He alisema zaidi to himself than to me. His slightly raspy British voice was like muziki to my ears. It was certainly better than the odd clicking insect and my hoarse screams. “Tell me, dearie, are wewe dead?”
The man bent mbele slightly, and gently grabbed my arm with his index finger and thumb, as if worried it might break off. Then he did the oddest thing. He brought my hand to his face and sniffed it. “Nope.” He confirmed. “You’re alive.”
I didn’t want to say he could have just asked me that, considering that would be rude seeing as how he had just saved my life. Instead I let him continue.
“Shame, too. wewe would’ve made such a lovely skeleton.” He stretched out a hand, and I gratefully took it. He pulled me up without much of a struggle.
“Um… wewe too?” I said, making it zaidi of a question.
He chuckled, and dropped my hand, swinging his arm back and forth slightly. “Thank you. So tell me love, why were wewe in that coffin. While I do admit coffins are lovely sleeping arrangements, it’s a bit dangerous when they’re, wewe know, underground.”
I took a moment to take in his appearance. Despite finding a person buried alive, he was smiling rather broadly. His bangs covered both of his eyes, and were slightly curled to the side. The rest of his hair was a light gray, almost white, and long. He had a few almost-invisible scars on his face and neck. His skin was pale, but not sickeningly so. He was tall, made even taller because of his black hat, and was wearing all black. The sleeves of his shati were rather long and covered his hands. It was, kind-of cute, I suppose wewe could say.
“Well… I suppose whoever buried me thought I was dead…” I muttered, not sure what else to say.
“Well won’t your parents be glad to know you’re not slowly rotting away in that old thing, which is kwa the way a disgrace to this cemetery…” he paused. “And wewe don't even have a headstone. Okay then. So, where are your parents? I should take wewe to them immediately.”
“Well, I don't really know. I can’t remember.”
His smile faltered, but only for a moment. Then he alisema in a calmer voice: “Do wewe remember anything?”
“Well… my name is Lorraine, Rayne for short. I don't know my last name, and before I woke up in that coffin I had fallen, a long ways.”
A thoughtful look passed his face, and he alisema in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “You must’ve slipped into a coma. Your family must have thought wewe were dead. Oh, wewe can call me Undertaker, kwa the way.”
I nodded, it made sense. “So what do I do?”
He smiled, well, he never actually stopped smiling, but his smile got wider, if that was possible. “I know!” he alisema excitedly. “You can stay at my shop!”
I blinked in surprise. “R-really? Are wewe sure? I mean, I don't want to be any trouble…”
“Oh it’s no trouble at all.” He said, waving it off.
“Oh, but… I don't have any money.” If I remembered anything about the world, it was that money was their number one priority. And they didn’t just let anyone have anything they wanted. There was always a cost. But what Undertaker alisema inayofuata surprised me.
“Oh, the Queen’s dhahabu means nothing to me! It’s worth practically nothing compared to the price of laughter!”
I was momentarily confused. Then I alisema uncertainly, “So… wewe want me to tell wewe a joke?”
He nodded quickly, and brought his hands, still both covered my sleeves, together in a silent plea. Like I alisema before, It was kind-of cute.
“Oh, gee… I dunno.” I thought hard, but nothing came to mind. I suppose saying a bunch of bila mpangilio stuff in a sentence would be efficient enough.
(AUTORS NOTE: Just a quick interruption, this inayofuata line is dedicated to the YouTube video Llamas with hats, I give them full credit!)
“Ssh, do wewe hear that?” I alisema quietly. “That, is the sound of forgiveness.”
Then I alisema in a slightly whinier voice: “Carl, that’s the sound of people drowning!”
Then I alisema in my regular voice. “That is what forgiveness sounds like. Screaming, and then silence.”
Chapter One: Saved
It was dark, pitch black. There wasn’t an ounce of sunlight. Even though I couldn’t see, I knew the space I was in was a confined one. I could feel all the walls pressed up against me. With a hesitant, shaky hand I reached out and traced the cheap splintering wood. I couldn’t remember anything, and the claustrophobia was getting to me. I took in several sharp breaths, and screamed for help. I could tell I was in a coffin, and that if I was under three feet deep there wasn’t a chance anyone could hear me. I also realized that me screaming my head off wasn’t exactly improving the oxygen level.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the left side of my head beginning to throb. Then I had a flashback.
It went kwa too quickly to catch any of it, but it left me shivering. I only could decipher two things.
One: My name was called Rayne, and almost everyone I knew had called me Rayne.
Two: In the last memorable moments of my life were of me falling, quite a distance.
The rest was a blur. I didn’t know my last name, au who had aliyopewa me the nick-name Rayne. I didn’t remember any of my family, au friends.
The only thing I really remembered were basic things I would have learned in school, and maybe a few other sub-conscious things.
I sat in silence, attempting to force myself to remember. But my attempts were as insubstantial as a kilima inayofuata to a mountain.
It was a while before anything noticeable happened. Time was just a thing that I couldn’t calculate at the moment, so I have no clue as to how long I lay as still as a corpse in that coffin.
Then I felt something slither over my exposed ankle, hundreds of tiny legs tickling my skin in an unpleasant way. I squeezed my eyes shut and shuttered, trying desperately not to scream. There was a low, sharp clicking sound down kwa where the creature was, and an image of a long centipedes, centipede with its translucent yellow legs and feelers crossed my mind. I couldn’t help it. Some girlish squeamish instinct made me scream, rather loudly. The feeling passed, although the ghost of the prickling sensation remained on my leg, raising goosebumps.
Then, something both scary and extraordinary happened. A couple specks of dirt fell from one of the many cracks in the lid of the coffin and onto my face. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head, trying to get them off.
Then there was light.
It was just a tiny little ray, falling through one of the cracks. Then another ray of crisp golden sunlight appeared. And another. And another. Soon, I was bathed in the bright rays of sun, and then, with a creek, the lid opened.
I inhaled sharply, hoping that this wasn’t a dream, that I was really free.
There was, indeed, a man standing above me. He was eclipsed kwa the sun behind him, the contrast between his dark clothing and the harsh sunlight made him no zaidi than a silhouette, a dark shadow.
He stood there for a moment, and then he finally spoke. “Well isn't this odd.” He alisema zaidi to himself than to me. His slightly raspy British voice was like muziki to my ears. It was certainly better than the odd clicking insect and my hoarse screams. “Tell me, dearie, are wewe dead?”
The man bent mbele slightly, and gently grabbed my arm with his index finger and thumb, as if worried it might break off. Then he did the oddest thing. He brought my hand to his face and sniffed it. “Nope.” He confirmed. “You’re alive.”
I didn’t want to say he could have just asked me that, considering that would be rude seeing as how he had just saved my life. Instead I let him continue.
“Shame, too. wewe would’ve made such a lovely skeleton.” He stretched out a hand, and I gratefully took it. He pulled me up without much of a struggle.
“Um… wewe too?” I said, making it zaidi of a question.
He chuckled, and dropped my hand, swinging his arm back and forth slightly. “Thank you. So tell me love, why were wewe in that coffin. While I do admit coffins are lovely sleeping arrangements, it’s a bit dangerous when they’re, wewe know, underground.”
I took a moment to take in his appearance. Despite finding a person buried alive, he was smiling rather broadly. His bangs covered both of his eyes, and were slightly curled to the side. The rest of his hair was a light gray, almost white, and long. He had a few almost-invisible scars on his face and neck. His skin was pale, but not sickeningly so. He was tall, made even taller because of his black hat, and was wearing all black. The sleeves of his shati were rather long and covered his hands. It was, kind-of cute, I suppose wewe could say.
“Well… I suppose whoever buried me thought I was dead…” I muttered, not sure what else to say.
“Well won’t your parents be glad to know you’re not slowly rotting away in that old thing, which is kwa the way a disgrace to this cemetery…” he paused. “And wewe don't even have a headstone. Okay then. So, where are your parents? I should take wewe to them immediately.”
“Well, I don't really know. I can’t remember.”
His smile faltered, but only for a moment. Then he alisema in a calmer voice: “Do wewe remember anything?”
“Well… my name is Lorraine, Rayne for short. I don't know my last name, and before I woke up in that coffin I had fallen, a long ways.”
A thoughtful look passed his face, and he alisema in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “You must’ve slipped into a coma. Your family must have thought wewe were dead. Oh, wewe can call me Undertaker, kwa the way.”
I nodded, it made sense. “So what do I do?”
He smiled, well, he never actually stopped smiling, but his smile got wider, if that was possible. “I know!” he alisema excitedly. “You can stay at my shop!”
I blinked in surprise. “R-really? Are wewe sure? I mean, I don't want to be any trouble…”
“Oh it’s no trouble at all.” He said, waving it off.
“Oh, but… I don't have any money.” If I remembered anything about the world, it was that money was their number one priority. And they didn’t just let anyone have anything they wanted. There was always a cost. But what Undertaker alisema inayofuata surprised me.
“Oh, the Queen’s dhahabu means nothing to me! It’s worth practically nothing compared to the price of laughter!”
I was momentarily confused. Then I alisema uncertainly, “So… wewe want me to tell wewe a joke?”
He nodded quickly, and brought his hands, still both covered my sleeves, together in a silent plea. Like I alisema before, It was kind-of cute.
“Oh, gee… I dunno.” I thought hard, but nothing came to mind. I suppose saying a bunch of bila mpangilio stuff in a sentence would be efficient enough.
(AUTORS NOTE: Just a quick interruption, this inayofuata line is dedicated to the YouTube video Llamas with hats, I give them full credit!)
“Ssh, do wewe hear that?” I alisema quietly. “That, is the sound of forgiveness.”
Then I alisema in a slightly whinier voice: “Carl, that’s the sound of people drowning!”
Then I alisema in my regular voice. “That is what forgiveness sounds like. Screaming, and then silence.”
