You were always so cocky. You thought you were invincible and that no one could break you.
You were wrong.
You're walking home alone (which isn't unusual) when it happens. Some drunken imbeciles are stumbling down the sidewalk.
You don't move to the side which automatically catches their attention. Smiles break out on their faces when the notice how pretty you are and you just roll your eyes.
"Hey there," one says and it angers him that you just push past him. It should just be left at that, but one reaches out and grabs your arm. Instead of fear (which was normal people feel) you just feel anger. After embarrassing yourself by getting jealous of a nine year old some guys decide to mess with you?
No.
"Let go," you hiss harshly, ripping your arm from his grip. He seems shocked by your reaction, having obviously expecting something different. Then all of them start laughing.
"Feisty one aren't you?" another pipes up and you roll your eyes again.
"Fuck off." And you start away again, only to be stopped by another grabbing your arm.
"Hey; don't talk to me like that!" he slurs, obviously angered by your tone.
"And what're you going to do to stop me?" you snarl viciously.
That was your mistake. A slow, creepy smile creeps onto his face and he pulls out a knife. The laughter stops immediately.
"Whoa; Paul?" one asks, horrified. You ignore their shocked statements and stare at the glinting knife. You feel a tinge of fear but you brush it off. What is the drunken idiot going to do? Kill you?
"Very nice; can't wait until your arrested." You snap snottily, failing to push back to twinge of fear. You have a feeling in your gut that something bad is going to happen. His eyes flash in anger, hoping you would've shut up the minute you saw the knife. "Now fuck off." You force the lump down your throat and turn to leave, wanting to get out of there as soon as you can.
Suddenly you're whirled around and the knife slams into your stomach. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion as the guy seems to realize what he was doing, a little too late. You fall to your knees, your hand instinctively clutching at your stomach.
The pain comes and you barely register the fact that you're face down on the sidewalk. The footsteps echo as the men run from the scene, sobering up immediately.
You're just another girl found dead in the street. They think you were just another prostitute at first, until Beck identifies you body. No one (except Beck, Cat and ew Sinjin) cry at your funeral. Months go by and your case runs cold. There are plenty of people that want you dead, but none of them are convicted.
You're just another case stacked onto all the other unsolved murders. Soon no one will even remember your name.
How cliché.
Disclaimer:
I don't own Victorious.
Author's Notes:
I wanted to do something dark and horrific so this came out… =) Aren't I just a happy camper? XD
I also tried a different type of writing… I think it's 2nd person point of view. Not really sure what they call it =/
Anyway; off to volunteering! (stupid bus was late xP)
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