A chisel cracked down on my eye, and a slit of light opened, like a mouth or a wound, till the darkness clamped shut on it again. I tried to roll away from the direction of the light, but hands wrapped round my limbs like mummy hands, and I couldn't move. I began to think I must be in an underground chamber, lit by blinding lights, and that the chamber was full of people who for some reason were holding me down. Then the chisel struck again, and the light leapt into my head, and through the thick, warm, furry dark, a voice cried.
-The Bell Jar {Sylvia Plath}