Running, my heart pounding, I race down the street. People yell as I bump into them, but I ignore them and keep running. I feel like I am being followed; I turn to look back, but in the brief second I look, it is a blur. Seems like paranoia has finally gotten to me. But, wait, I'm not usually paranoid. How come I feel like I'm always like that?
I turn into an alleyway, frantic. I feel like I am one of those gazelles from the Discovery Channel and I am now prey. Feeling stalked, I start to run, frantic and jittery. My hunter is masked in the foliage, but I can sense that he is there. I pump my legs harder as I turn down the alley. Breathing hard, I try to force myself to go faster, but my feet are numb and my legs are Jell-o. I can see the end of the alleyway, illuminated by the street lamps, car lights and neon signs.
It is night and in the alleyway, it is very dark. Suddenly, I stumble over something and trip, sprawling out onto the ground. My knee hurts, along with the palms of my hands, and there is something sticky on my face. I sit up slowly to find myself surrounded by a group of men, faces hidden and clothed in black. Each of them is carrying a sliver knife, shinning white into the darkness and hurting my eyes.
"Who are you?" I call out, but it is not my voice which speaks. It is a voice that is slightly deeper than my own and horse, almost squeaky. My hand comes up to shield my eyes as flashlights shine down upon me.
What I see in their light made my stomach churn and to gag. The thing that I had tripped over just moments ago is a dead body lying in a pool of blood. I want to scream, or to puke, but my throat closes and I can do neither. The cadaver looks like he was stabbed to death, and as the men surrounding me drew in closer, I see that there is blood on their shinning knives. They killed the man, I think. I wipe the sweat that is dripping from my forehead, but when I pull my hand back, I find it is covered in blood that is not my own. I look down at the puddle of blood at my knees and see my reflection in it. It is not my frighten face that looks back; it is the face a pudgy middle-aged man with thick glasses and partially bald. Then, thoughts that aren't my own flood through my head and I drown in the sea of knowledge that isn't my own.
Scared, I look up as two sets of rough hands lift me from the ground. "Who are you?" I ask again, but they do not answer. Instead, they ask their own question.
"Did you kill this man?" they ask and I shake my head violently, not taking my widening eyes off them. My answer didn't seem to please them and they shook me and one grabbed my neck. "We know you did," they say, but I plea that I hadn't. I start trying to fight their grip on me, but they only grab me around my waist and pull tight. I scream out, but no one hears me as a sudden pain jolts me from between my ribs. I stop struggling and look down to find a knife in my chest. I am in shock and do nothing as the black clothed men stab me to death.
Finally, as the last knife slices through my abdomen and disembowels me, I am violently awakened.
