And here is link to Chuck Wendig’s 2nd part of the 200 words competition:

He was still in the box.

How long had he been in here? No way to know. Whoever the hell had put him in the thing clearly didn’t mean to kill him. At least, not yet. He’d slept twice since first waking up in the box and, except for the occasional bout of panic and claustrophobia, he wasn’t having any trouble breathing.

At first, he had banged on the wood of the box, hoping someone would hear and get him out of the damn thing. Now his hands hurt and it didn’t seem worth the trouble. He hadn’t heard a damn thing but the rattle of his own breathing the whole damn time.

It had been inevitable that something like this would happen. He’d pissed enough people off in his time. Hadn’t really expected the box, though. A gun in the face, yes. The shit kicked out of him in a bar, sure. A box, no.

The box was what he thought of as coffin sized but it clearly wasn’t a coffin. There was no padding for one. Nothing inside but him and bare wood. It was big enough to hold him comfortably but not what you would call spacious.

He wasn’t married, had no girlfriends, no mistresses.  Almost wise.  Could his dubious boss have done this?  His best friend?  His drug dealer neighbor from whom he’d bought the odd line worth on credit?  His brother’s meth addicted cousin?  The thoughts scrambled desperately for any damn clue available inside his skull.  He thought of extending his arms and let his fingers run through the entire box to touch and feel, looking with little hope for anything that might be revealing.  Then his index finger found right behind his back and exactly, it seemed, in the middle of the plank, a perfectly cut hole.

Charlie turned around to face the hole but couldn’t kneel to look through it.  This was one damn of a tight and dumb state of affair.  He pulled a small coin out of his jeans and let it fall through the hole.  He listened intently for a few seconds believing this would be inconclusive when he heard what must have been the coin reach the bottom of what was underneath him.  That was quite a drop.  His makeshift coffin was wedged into the ground above some abysmal elevation.  Fuck!  Someone knew he was afraid of heights.


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