Angelina

This is how it felt to be Angela. 

You were the center of his life, the sunshine in his universe. You were what he lived for. For you, his love and care had no end. 

And for you, the feelings were the same. You felt so loyal, so loving to your spouse, the man you had shared your life with for the past six years. Your love was an endless spring that would never dry up. 

Then one day, everything changed. 

Anthony came home looking nervous, looking scared. 

You asked him what was wrong, what had scared him so. Surely it was nothing your love couldn't fix. 

And then he told you. He told you how he had been seen at the site of a mass murder carried out by a local gang. He told you how the gang now had a perfect scapegoat, because they had knocked him out and smeared his fingerprints over the guns, and put the blood on his shirt. 

And now the police were looking for him. You urged him to tell the police what happened, how it is all just a mistake. 

But then he told you that the gang had threatened him, and you, with torture if he ever squealed. How they would ensure the two of you would suffer and die painfully, begging for death to come and claim you. 

Your heart beat fast and hard. What could you do? How could you possibly get out of this? There had to be a way. 

But you knew this gang. You knew that they would keep their promise, their word. People have messed with them, and have never been seen again. 

You thought for a time. What to do? 

Finally, you decided to go to the police yourself, and explain everything that happened. Anthony begged you not to go, to save yourself from this whole fiasco. 

"I can't do that." You told him. "I will not live in fear." 

He continued to plead with you. But you refused to hear any of it. You urged him to pack his bags and go live with his sister for a time, until this whole thing is settled out. 

With that, you headed outside to the car, and started driving. Little did you know that you were being followed. 

They made their move when you were passing through the road roughly halfway to the station, where nobody else was around. 

The gunshots were loud in the night air. The bullets deflate the tires quickly. You screamed in terror as twenty men began to surround the car. You reached for your cell phone to summon aid, but then they attacked. 

They smashed the windows, grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the car, onto the street. You screamed and screamed and screamed, trying desperately to attract attention. 

They simply laughed before they put the duct tape over your mouth, silencing you and your screams. 

Your arms were dragged behind your back, where they were tied in place with thin cables that cut into the skin. You whimpered with fear and terror as one of them leaned down next to you. 

"We got you bitch." He whispered. "And we're gonna get your husband too. We told him not to go the police. But he wouldn't listen, and he sent his puppy bitch to do the squealing for him." 

You tried to scream and tell the man to leave your husband alone. But your threats came out as muffled pleas. 

The man had a hearty laugh before he kicked you in the head, hard, sending you into darkness. 

**

This is how it feels to be Angelina. 

**

Your first sensation is of pain, of a pounding headache on your forehead where a boot slammed into your skull. 

You try to rub it, only to find that your arm won't move. You open your eyes. 

The first sight is of a grey figure in front of you, standing upright. You don't recognize this figure. Who is he? What is he doing there? 

You try to ask him who he is, what's going on, where are you? But your mouth won't emit words. 

You try to speak, only to realize that your mouth is filled with something hard and plastic. A ball gag. Your mouth is taped shut, sealing the gag inside, which blocks your words. 

Then you look down at your body, and if you could gasp, you would. Where your body was, there is now only a smooth, compressed form of silver. 

Your body has been wrapped in duct tape. Wrapped up like those old mummies you saw at the museum once. Except you are now in their place, wrapped from head to toe. 

You arms are taped to your side, where they remain secured, no matter how hard you struggle. Your firm, athletic legs are wrapped together as well. And no matter how hard you try to force them apart, they remain taped together. 

You have been turned into a living mummy. Looking at the form in front of you, you suddenly realize who it is. It is your husband. The wrapping that imprisons him has stopped just below his eyes. 

He looks at you, terrified beyond what words can say. He too, is now a living mummy. 

But where are you? You manage to twist your head, looking around you. You are in a deep, narrow pit of some kind. The walls are smooth concrete, and steel frames are fixed into the wall. 

You look upwards, and see that this pit goes up high, almost thirty feet. It is daytime above, with a bright blue sky. An unseen bird sings somewhere nearby. 

You look down at your taped form and realize that you cannot move. Thin cables have attached you to the metal frame on the wall. You are immobilized to the tape, and attached to the wall with thin cables. Your husband too, has been secured in the same fashion. 

The only thing that separates you from your husband is that you are standing on a large box roughly two feet high. Why? You wonder. 

There is a loud whirling noise. You and your husband look up, to the edge of the pit high above. 

A machine is moving into position. You recognize it with a chill. 

It's a cement truck. 

The ramp extends from the back, and the large mixer begins to spin. You and your husband look at each other, sheer terror in your eyes. 

A thick stream of cement goop lands on the ground. High up above, the cement truck is beginning to unload its cargo. 

Soon a small waterfall of cement is pouring into the pit, slowly filling it up, slowly rising with each passing second. 

You are above it for now, but your husband is now up to his knees in grey sludge. He is looking at the mixture with sheer terror, muffled screams barely audible. 

You scream too, trying to attract any attention from the people up above. But with the gag in your mouth silencing your screams, and the sound of the machine up above, nobody is going to hear you. 

With a sickening feeling, the cement covers the box, and begins to work its way up your feet, and up your legs. It's cold and feels horrible. 

The cement is now up to your husband's waist. His body wrap crinkles as he frantically squirms, trying to break free of his bindings. But the strength of a man is nothing compared to the strength of three layers of duct tape, and industrial grade cable. 

It is now up to his chest, and rising fast. The cement continues rising slowly but steadily. Within a minute, your husband will be completely covered. 

You scream in sheer desperation and despair as you realize that your husband is going to die. And the realization that you cannot help him makes it even worse. 

The sludge reaches his shoulders, and it reaches your waist. Anthony looks at you, his eyes pleading for help. Tears flow from your eyes as you realize you cannot help him. He realizes it too. 

With a horrible slurp, the mixture reaches his wrapped chin and mouth. He frantically squirms and gives off muffled screams as the mixture slowly rises. His eyes look around frantically as the sludge reaches him. 

He looks at you, his eyes tearing with despair. And yet…with love too. You realize that he's saying goodbye. 

Instinctively, he closes his eyes as the cement covers them. Now only his head and hair remain. The sludge rises, and then only his hair is left, a small batch of hair surrounded by liquid cement. 

And then with a final slurp, the cement covers his hair too. The cement glurps like a living thing, as it embraces your husband in its grip. 

You scream and buckle in your restraints. Your husband is gone, embraced and buried in the cement that now begins it's quest to entomb you. 

You struggle as it continues to rise, compressing and hugging your wrapped body with every inch. Though you struggle as hard as you can, you realize that it is futile. 

There is no escape. 

The cement continues to rise, and your wrapped breasts are submerged beneath the goo. Then your shoulders…then your neck. 

You struggle to breathe. Your nose is covered and wrapped in tape, yet you can still manage to suck in air. 

You know that you are going to die. But the instinct of survival is impossible to shake off, and you struggle for every gulp of life giving air, knowing that within a minute, there will be no more air to take in. 

Then the goo reaches your eyes. And miraculously…it stops. 

You dart your eyes, trying to figure out what divine miracle has just happened. The cement has stopped! Someone's seen you! You'll get out! 

Craning your head as high as possible, you watch as the cement truck pulls away…only to be replaced by another cement truck. 

The liquid fall of cement continues. 

There is no sign of your husband, no sign that he ever existed. No bubbles of air pop the surface of the cement that now entombs him, and will soon entomb you as well. 

A tear runs out your eye as the cement slowly rises. 

You instinctively close your eyes as the cement covers your face. 

You can no longer see. But you can feel the horrible cold of the goo as it surrounds your head. You feel your long hair floating above you, before it too is covered. 

It is cold and silent in the cement. You desperately suck at any air, trying to hold off the inevitable. 

But the air is running out. And you realize that this really is the end. There is no escape. 

**

This is how it feels to be Angelina, knowing that you are going to die. 
 

**

This cement filled pit will be your grave. You will remain here, never to be released. No one will ever know the final resting place of you and your husband. 

Both of you will remain buried in the foundation of a freeway overpass, as part of a support leg that will hold the bridge up. 

Perhaps your death is not in vain. You will become a part of a bridge, part of it's foundation to keep it strong. 

You grow faint headed, the lack of air already affecting you. Is your husband still alive? You have no way of knowing, though the two of you are only five feet apart. 

Already you can feel the cement around you beginning to harden, feel as it grips your body mercilessly for all eternity. 

It is almost over. You can very faintly hear the cement pouring several feet above you. 

Then you feel the hardness around you, as your body is entombed in your grave. 

This is how it feels to be Angelina. 

Forever.
 
 

My thanks to those of you who tell me what you think of my stories.  Your comments and suggestions allow me to refine my writting.
 

01.11.05