Hiya, this is an idea that follows on from a thread I made on the discussion forum, as I thought it might be fun to have some writing prompts!

The prompt is a one-word one, as I find those to be the most versatile and interesting.

The word I picked for this thread is 'vessel'.

I'm going to post my interpretation of the prompt below this as a 'chapter 2', so that my submission doesn't sway anyone's ideas on what to write, and hope you guys will get involved with your own takes on the prompt by adding new chapters/story paths below! Credit to SepiandDust for the general idea of how this is all set out :)

• Riot45

I gasped, my eyes shooting open as I gathered my surroundings. Something didn't feel right. It was dark and my hands kept touching something. Was this wood? I used my hands and feet to feel around me and my heart started racing. all around me, by about 2 inches, was wood. No door. No opening. I screamed out for help, but wasn't convinced anyone would hear me.

I had no idea where I was - outside of being in some sort of container, maybe? and no guarantee anyone would hear me.

A second thought flooded my brain. There won't be enough oxygen to survive at this rate if I keep this up. My eyes widened and sweat creeped down my back.

I had to do something.

I kicked my feet towards the container, cursing as they hit solid oak. Maybe hitting would work?

I pushed, pulled strained against this box encasing me until I finally heard the distinctive crack of wood.

But my hope didn't last forever. Dirt immediately hit my face and I realize:

I've been buried alive.

The earth was suffocating. Packed tight around the splintered wood, it pressed against my face, filling my mouth with the taste of decay and ancient soil. I thrashed, desperation overriding reason, clawing upward through the cramped darkness. My fingers broke through something: a root, maybe. I grabbed it and pulled, my shoulders scraping against rough wood as I dragged myself up. The coffin shifted beneath me. A coffin.

The reality crystallized: this was a grave.

A real grave.

Panic threatened to drown me, but survival instinct won. I kept digging, kept pushing, kept climbing through the relentless earth. My hand broke the surface and cool night breeze kissed my skin. I gasped, sobbing, and pulled myself free with a final desperate lunge, collapsing on damp grass, heaving, my entire body trembling. Above me, stars scattered across an impossibly vast sky. The moon hung low and sickly yellow. My lungs burned as I breathed, each gulp of air tasting of freedom and violation.

But something was wrong. The grave next to mine was open too.

And standing at its edge, silhouetted against the moonlight, was a figure. Tall. Waiting.

"Welcome back," the figure said, their voice rough as gravel. "They told me you'd wake up eventually. That you'd dig your way out, just like I did."

I froze, every muscle tensing. The figure reached out and grasped my arm firmly in its cold, winding fingers.

"Now comes the hard part," they continued, mouth opening to reveal rows and rows of pointed teeth. "Welcome to your new life."

And then it bit down.