Author’s Note: Written for the Five Words Challenge at Pretender100.
Summary: Names on headstones aren’t always correct.
He smiled coldly while looking down into the hole. He had spent the last two hours digging it and exhaustion was beginning to rake its way into his consciousness. He was far from done, though, and brushed it away.
The woman inside the box had quit her incessant thrashing about, at the very least. He absent-mindedly wondered if she had run out of air already, but knew that wasn't true. She had enough air to die a slow, terrifying death.
He was counting on it.
With a strength he didn't even know he possessed, he heaved the box into the ground and heard her muffled scream of terror. He grinned to himself as he began to shovel the dirt back into the hole, slowly covering the box.
He hummed to himself as he realized that he would no longer have to worry about her spying and sneaking about The Centre. She was a problem that was now eliminated.
He wondered if he should plant daisies by the headstone of Annika Smith, the woman who never existed.