**"The Final Breath"**

Liam’s eyes fluttered open, and darkness greeted him like a suffocating blanket. His breath quickened, the air around him heavy, pressing against his chest. Disoriented, he tried to move his arms but found them confined, pinned to his sides by an unyielding barrier. Panic surged through his veins as his mind struggled to comprehend the situation.

He was in a coffin. Buried alive.

Liam's heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through the tight space around him. He forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to conserve what little air was left. The stale, earthy scent filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint whiff of decaying wood.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This was no nightmare. He was entombed beneath the earth, trapped in a coffin with no way out. The thought was too monstrous to fully grasp. His mind reeled, but he knew that panic would only hasten the inevitable.

Liam closed his eyes, forcing himself to think. How did he end up here? He tried to piece together the last fragments of his memory. There was a party—no, a gathering. Friends, laughter, the clink of glasses.

Who had done this to him? And why?

Liam's fingers traced the edges of the coffin, searching for any sign of weakness. The wood was solid, no cracks or gaps that he could exploit. His breath came in shallow gasps as he strained to push against the lid, but it refused to budge.

His thoughts turned to the people who might be looking for him—his family, his friends. How long would it take before they realized he was missing? And when they did, would they find him in time? The idea of being discovered too late, nothing more than a lifeless corpse, sent a shiver of dread through his body.

Liam knew he couldn’t afford to wait for rescue. He had to act, to find a way out before it was too late. But what could he do? He remembered stories of people who had been buried alive, tales of horror and despair. Some had managed to escape by sheer force of will, by scratching their way through the coffin lid.

Liam refused to accept that fate. He was not ready to die, not like this. Summoning every ounce of strength he had, he began to push against the lid once more, his muscles straining against the unyielding wood. His fingernails dug into the surface, splintering as he clawed at the coffin. Pain shot through his fingers, but he ignored it, focusing only on the task at hand.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time had lost all meaning in the pitch-black void. His strength was waning, each breath becoming more labored, more precious. Desperation clawed at his mind, but he fought to keep it at bay. He couldn’t give up, not now.

Finally, just as his strength was about to give out, he felt a faint shift. The lid moved, ever so slightly. Hope flared within him, a tiny spark in the overwhelming darkness. He pushed harder, his body trembling with the effort. Inch by inch, the lid gave way, until at last, with one final, desperate shove, it burst open.

Fresh air flooded his lungs as he gasped, clawing his way out of the coffin and into the open air above. The night sky greeted him, stars twinkling down as if nothing had happened. Liam collapsed on the ground, panting, his body aching from the ordeal.

He had survived. But as he lay there, staring up at the sky, one thought lingered in his mind—who had buried him alive, and why?