Trapped

 My old man always used to say in his gruff voice “William, you better stay on your own land or your gonna get y'self in a heap o' trouble.” But we were simply children, headstrong and curious. We were young and proud, not a care in the world.

    I remember the date. March 17. A beautiful spring morning. Me and the boys were foolin' and playing Daniel Boone when we passed my father's land markers and ventured onto Farmer Green's land. Now of course we were not allowed, but Farmer Green owned acres of land. Hilly terrain of trees and grass as far as the eye could see. He would never know we had been there.

    My friend Thomas chuckled. “Throw it over here, Billy.”

    I laughed and and threw the baseball. “My pa would kill us if he'd hear about us goin' past the land markers.”

    Another one of my pals, Stevie, ran past me. “Ah, lighten' up, Bill, nobody's ever gonna find us out.”

   “I guess you're probl'y right.” I laughed again. “Throw it back, Tom.”

    We played like this for a few minutes until we heard a rustling noise.

    “What was that?” Stevie exclaimed.

    I looked around. “I don't know, prob'ly a coon.” We threw the ball around until suddenly we heard a voice.

     “Get off my land or I'll shoot you youngins, you hear me?” Speak of the devil, it was Farmer Green.

    We ran. We ran for our lives. We ran until we came to an open area, full of dead grass and planks of wood.

    “Run!” I yelled. “We best be gettin' back to our own land or he's gonna kill- AAH!”

    All of a sudden I felt like I was waking up from a dream. I did not know what had happened. All I knew was that my entire body hurt. My first thought was that Farmer Green had shot me, but I would have been dead if that had happened. I opened my eyes. It was dark and stuffy. What had happened to me?

    It dawned on me like a slap in the face. The planks of wood in the field had been covering up a deep hole of some sort. I had tripped and fallen down it, knocking myself unconscious.

    The first thing I wanted to do was scream. I tried to take a deep breath, but instead got a mouthful of dirt. I coughed and spluttered, and began to cry. My body shook furiously, but I could barely move. I screamed like a madman. Dirt fell upon my head. My arm hurt like nothing that I had ever experienced. I began to hyperventilate, breathing extremely hard. It was then that I realized that making a scene would not help me get out of this hole. I attempted to calm down and take hold of my surroundings.

    It was pitch black, I could not see my hand in front of my face. My entire body ached thoroughly, but my right arm screamed in pain. I rubbed it. It was cut and covered in blood. I must have scraped it on the wood planks. Maybe I could climb out of this hole. I pushed upward, but I could not move my legs. They must have been broken, I knew it. Once again I began to hyperventilate and make a scene.

“HELP! HELP! THOMAS! STEVIE! MA! PA! HELP ME! HELP ME! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I screamed and called for help for quite some time, until I realized that nobody could hear me. My only hope was that someone had seen me fall down and would get help.

    After struggling some more, a mysterious calm came over me. I did not feel the need to struggle. I actually felt relaxed. But from my lessons at school I realized that it was because of the limited air supply. My body did not have enough oxygen so it was attempting to shut itself down.

   I cried some more. If only I had listened to my father, I would not be in this mess. I promised myself that if I got out of this, I would obey my old pa whenever he told me to do something. But if I died in there, I would never see him again.

I must not die, I told myself, I must not die, I am too young too die. Again I attempted to push myself up to the surface, but it was no use. There was no denying it, I was trapped. Trapped, I repeated it to myself. Trapped. Trapped! I decided that my best bet was to stay awake and alert. They would come looking for me eventually, they would rescue me.

    But the longer I stayed in there, the harder it became to breathe. Sleep crept over me like a disease. The lack of oxygen and the shock of being trapped must have rendered me delirious, because I began to have an imaginary conversation with myself.

    “Sleep, Billy, just close your eyes and relax.” A voice inside of me said.

    “No, I ain't gonna sleep, I have to stay awake!”

    “Don't fight it, Billy, just sleep.” The voice wheedled and cajoled me, but I stood firm.

    “No! I MUST STAY AWAKE!”

    “Just give in to the urge Billy, give in.”

    But I knew I mustn't give in. If I did give in I would not wake up again. I must fight. Fight to stay alive. Fight to see my family again. Fight to see my friends again. Fight to see the world again.

    My strategy was to occupy my mind to keep myself awake. I thought of my family. I thought of my old man with his gruff voice and his aromatic stogies. I thought of my loving mom. I thought of my brothers James and Robert and my sister Marian.

    I remembered when I had broken the window with a baseball and blamed it on Thomas. I laughed when I recalled how furious my father had been when he found out it was me. I remembered the extensive lecture he had given me about lying.

My eyes watered as I prayed that somebody would rescue me. I would have preferred for my father to be furious at me. Anything to get me out of that God-forsaken well.

    After staying awake for what seemed an eternity, the air supply grew dangerously low, and the voice became more persuasive than ever.

    “Sleeeep. Sleeeep. Sleeep.” It sang.

   Eventually, I knew that I must give in to the urge. I could not keep my eyes open, and nobody was coming for me. I would probably die, but I had to sleep.

Without warning, someone grabbed my hand. It was probably the hand of God coming to take me to heaven, but it was someone coming to rescue me, and that was all that mattered.

` At that same moment, I fell asleep.

   The next thing I knew I heard a voice.

   “Billy, Billy, wake up.”

    I opened my eyes. Light engulfed my vision.

    “Is this... Heaven?” I inquired to the voice.

    “No, William, it's me, I got you out of that hole. You're safe now. Don't worry.”

    My eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. I began to weep for joy. I recognized that voice, it was my pa, my old man. He had rescued me and put me on my bed. Tears streamed out of my eyes like rain from thunder clouds. I hugged my father tightly, something I hadn't done in a long while. I had survived!

    “But how?” My words came amidst tears.

    “Farmer Green ran to me as soon as you fell. He may be a bit of a toughie, but he saved your young life.”

    More celebration tears came as my family entered the room. I hugged all of them, thankful to be alive. I have learned one crucial lesson from this ordeal. No matter what your parents tell you, whether or not it seems important, they tell you because they love you. Their rules are there to protect you. Following these rules may very well save your life.