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Death |
| Written by Kayla | |
| Saturday, 21 June 2008 | |
The scariest thing in the world is knowing you are going to die; knowing you can't stop it; knowing this is the way it's going to be and nothing willl intervene. Every thing you've done goes through your head. Every thing you haven't done goes through your head. Every unsaid word leaves you with regret. the remores is overwhelming when you realize all the people in your life have put up with you, good days and bad, and you enver once thanked them. You think, if only. You know you can't go back and you slowldy feel the life being sucked out of you. Panic. Paranoia. the tiniest sound or movement makes you sweat, not that you aren't already. the image of every person you lvoe flases in your mind; you're never going to see them again. Worse, they will never again see you. You want to go back in time to undo the things you said out of anger and hurt. You cherish the moments that were our of love and happiness. You want to cry but are scared Death will come quicker. You are tied to a chair and can't stand up. A gag is wrapped around your mouth, growing damp with the exhalation of air. The room is heavy and musty, like and old basement. the light above you flickers, sometimes dim, sometimes blindingly bright. the floor is cement, cold and hard. You also hear the hiss of water escaping from a broken pipe. You close your eyes, trembling and silently praying. Praying for a saviour on earth, if that is humanly possible. But somehow you kn ow your prayer won't be answered, even if heard. Then, for the first time, you see him. Your killer, Death, circles around you, laughing, looking smugly down on you. He grabs your face and turns it towards him. his face is ugly and distorted. His expression mocks you, saying, this is it. Your life is over. I have found you and I won't let you go. You are all mine. His eyes look coldly familiar. Your heart is torn. Slowly he walks to a table full of weapons: knives, daggers, poisons, needles, guns, and clubs. He is making his decision. He will kill you, you have no doubt. You don't see what he picks but you hope, whatever it is, that it will kill you quickly an dpainlessly. He picks the weapon. Relief or fear? Either one. You start to cry, and then scream. You can smell him walking closer and closer, the predator gaining on his helpless prey. You can feel the delight and pleasure emerging from his ever growing body. You struggle but are strongly silence by unforgiving hands. You scream as the weapon enters your body. You grow clod and limp, struggling for breath. the room grows dark, and you know it's not the light bulb. Just before you slip into unconsciuosness, you glance at your killer's face. Every last inch of you wants to kill him, but your body has no strength left. You give up. The end of your life has now come. Copyright 2008 Kayla |
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