The Girl They Buried Alive

The Girl They Buried Alive

Gavin

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Every day of my life, I, Hailey, was keenly aware I was nothing but an unwanted burden to my parents, Frank and Brenda, their every word and action reserved instead for my coddled younger brother, Kevin. Thanksgiving approached, and their solution to saving money for Kevin's new gaming console was horrific: I was to travel hundreds of miles, locked inside an old, smelly footlocker, checked as luggage on a Greyhound bus. Buried in suffocating darkness, I scratched at the lid with weakening fingers as the air dwindled, until my desperate struggle became nothing more than a final gasp before floating into oblivion. Upon arrival, my parents, eager to enjoy the holiday, left my tomb in a corner, only to casually open it a day later to find my lifeless, blue body, eliciting Frank's curse and Brenda's chilling remark about the "bad luck" I brought before they paid a local man, with the money saved from my bus fare and food, to bury me swiftly and quietly in an unmarked grave, forgotten for Kevin's new treats. To them, my life was merely an obstacle, and my agonizing death was nothing more than an inconvenience, solidifying their profound and terrifying indifference towards me. But then, with a choked gasp, I bolted upright in my bed, the morning sun streaming through my window, and realized I had been given an impossible second chance: it was the same fateful Thanksgiving morning, the old footlocker by the door, and this time, I wouldn't just obey.

Introduction

Every day of my life, I, Hailey, was keenly aware I was nothing but an unwanted burden to my parents, Frank and Brenda, their every word and action reserved instead for my coddled younger brother, Kevin.

Thanksgiving approached, and their solution to saving money for Kevin's new gaming console was horrific: I was to travel hundreds of miles, locked inside an old, smelly footlocker, checked as luggage on a Greyhound bus.

Buried in suffocating darkness, I scratched at the lid with weakening fingers as the air dwindled, until my desperate struggle became nothing more than a final gasp before floating into oblivion.

Upon arrival, my parents, eager to enjoy the holiday, left my tomb in a corner, only to casually open it a day later to find my lifeless, blue body, eliciting Frank's curse and Brenda's chilling remark about the "bad luck" I brought before they paid a local man, with the money saved from my bus fare and food, to bury me swiftly and quietly in an unmarked grave, forgotten for Kevin's new treats.

To them, my life was merely an obstacle, and my agonizing death was nothing more than an inconvenience, solidifying their profound and terrifying indifference towards me.

But then, with a choked gasp, I bolted upright in my bed, the morning sun streaming through my window, and realized I had been given an impossible second chance: it was the same fateful Thanksgiving morning, the old footlocker by the door, and this time, I wouldn't just obey.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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