The unmarked Grave in the schoolyard

"I was raking up wet leaves behind my old high school trying to find a dropped shoe, but then I noticed this fresh, rectangular patch of dark earth dug right into the middle of the grass. there wasn't any headstone or name on it, but I had this heavy, sickening certainty in my gut that it was dug specifically for me, and that I only had a few minutes left before someone came back to finish it. I knelt down at the edge and touched the dirt—it felt strange, super soft and warm like black velvet, and I could hear this faint, muffled lullaby coming from somewhere way beneath the roots. This overwhelming wave of grief washed over me, not even because I was scared of dying, but because I suddenly remembered all these small things I forgot to tell my sister before the sun went down. Then all of a sudden I was standing in a bright hardware store aisle holding a bag of fertilizer, staring at my dirty fingernails with this lingering, hollow ache in my ribs."