After the first frantic ten minutes or so of screaming and clawing at the insides of this tiny enclosure, I quickly realise that all this accomplishes is to make me more aware of the increasingly warm, close moisture of the dwindling air.
I furtively start tapping dot-dot-dot dash-dash-dash dot-dot-dot: *Save Our Souls* in Morse code. Nobody responds. Nobody rescues me.
So I lie back, and quietly await my fate.
The musty smell of exhausted oxygen fades slowly as I begin to lose consciousness.
There is a pang of guilt with the emotion this inspires in me: Relief.
I hear a noise to the side of me. A spark of hope. Rescue, maybe?
The scraping of wood against wood above me, and the rush of cool air.
Part of me screams *Run* but I know it's hopeless. I am too weak.
It is still dark. My eyes have no light to adjust to.
Then I see a tiny blue light flicker on - off - on - off from beyond the edge of the casket, and a small vibration.
I sit up, and look for the source of that flickering light.
A flashing LED. And when it flashes, I can see the smooth glint of glass: A phone.
I reach down, my fingernails scraping against cold concrete as I scoop up the phone.
A finger seeks out the 'on' button and the room is suddenly lit by the light of the phone.
I ignore what is on the phone initially, using it as a torch to survey my surroundings.
It is a concrete floored room with wooden rafters above, surrounded by red brick, a metal door inset into the bricks ahead of me, and the glint of something by the door.
Sitting down in my casket once more, it feels like my place of safety in this unfamiliar territory.
I read what is on the smartphone screen:
*Welcome, William.*
*You have had many, many opportunities to better yourself in your life. You have squandered each and every opportunity, in order to retain a life of ease but devoid of meaning.*
*If you have no real use for your life, I suggest that you may as well be released from its burden.*
*Did you greet impending death with welcome arms, or did you fight to your last breath?*
*Don't tell me. I know.*
*So I give you three choices. Press the appropriate button for the enactment of your choice.*
This is surreal, but I read the options, a feeling of dread creeping over me:
*1. Lie back in the casket and you can drift back into a gradual death, with no more choices to make.*
*2. You may leave unscathed but the cost will be the head of your first child, Saul. The one that fulfills all of your untapped potential you were never brave enough to surface. The one who lives the life of promise that you chose to throw away.*
*3. An axe sits on the floor by the door. Remove completely your right hand. You will never play your precious guitar. But does that matter - you never did fulfill your potential to play in a band.*
*But you will have your conscience.*
*Nobody but you will know your decision. I am watching.*
*Now you must choose how you will live the rest of your life.*
I think for a moment. Only a moment.
And choose. It's no decision, really.
Taking a deep breath, I clamber from the casket, using the phone's screen to light my way to the door.
A flash of metal near the door - I make my way towards it.
I lean down and, when I try to pick it up, the hatchet slips forwards in my hand.
Unbalanced, it is arrested as it embeds one corner of its heavy blade into the brickwork with an alarm-like *ting* that echoes through the walled silence.
The blade must be very, very sharp.
I tug the hatchet from the wall, stumbling back a little, and take a step to the door.
Tentatively, I give a little push.
A line of light assails me, and I put my phone hand reflexively in front of my eyes.
The door shuts. It is dark again.
This time, I push harder, and follow through with my body, squinting through the warm rays of sun to look for danger, the hatchet raised to strike.
There is nobody. Only a battered old car with a door open, waiting silently for me on a dirt track leading through trees.
Behind me is the newly built shack from which I have emerged.
There is even a half empty sack of powdery cement by the door.
All this for my benefit.
Who would do such a thing. Why?
I turn again, and walk towards the car, stop, and put the hatchet down on the seat.
There is a key already in the ignition, with a picture of my boy's eager face on a keyfob hanging down, still gently swinging.
I look nervously around. No movement. No sound. Nothing.
Tentatively, waiting for a new hidden fate, I turn the key in the ignition.
It sputters and fails to start.
I take a deep breath, and try again, wincing when the engine catches and the car putters into life.
The fuel gauge climbs to full.
I smile weakly, and look at the hatchet, and nervously around again.
Nobody. Nothing.
There is a buzz in my pocket.
*Just do it - don't look*
I don't look at the phone. Not yet.
But now, I have things to do, a life to live.
One thing left to do.
***
After the interviews; After the counseling; After the horror of those around me dies to the dull ache of everyday life; After the months of nightmares, and unanswered questions; After the marriage breaks down and I am left alone, parted from my Wife and children, depleted.
Life finally goes on. A new start.
I now do what I always should have done, and live my life as I had once dreamed.
I have reformed my old band, so I can play lead guitar once more, and sing with all the torment of a soul possessed with guilt and grief.
Next week I will accept my first Grammy award, and I will thank my fans, my manager, my band-mates.
But ahead of everything, I will thank the memory of my Son, Saul, who gave our music soul.