I’m making my way along like I normally do, eating dirt and whatever’s in it, crapping it out the other end, when I bump into something. Normally this only happens when I feel like coming to the surface and strike a brick wall, a concrete slab, or a pram wheel parked on the grass.
At first I think it’s a root – it had a woody quality to it. But there’s something odd about its texture, its surface. It’s not gnarled and knotty, but is flat, smooth and polished.
I work my way along its edge to see if I can find out more, in case there’s something I can feast on. There is a brass handle, attached to the wood with a fluted edge. I continue, and the surface suddenly turns away from me.
Instead of turning to follow its’ edge, I edge my way upwards to the top, which is also flat – a long, flat plane of wood buried under the earth.
After a while I get bored, and head in a different direction, working my way through the dirt, and I suddenly pop out into the open, wriggling on a bed of earth. Someone has carved out a hole in the ground, and I am about to delve back into the earth, when a box is suddenly dropped on me, my death instantaneous.