The knife went further in, not stopping its torturous misgivings. Its threatening morbidity clung close to the jagged blade, not ending its relentless pain. Just when he thought the pain would never cease, the knife slid out. He fell to the ground, his vision blurring, his mind trying to understand why it had to end this way. Why it was him that was cut through and not the next man? His mind gave up thinking, as the process was too strenuous.
His persecutor grabbed his hair, pulling the injured human upwards. The knife returned it's pointed tip close to his ear. The thought of losing his ear slipped into his mind and his facial muscles showed the extremity of that fear. He yelled for the owner to stop, to relent but the hand still persevered. Not stopping and the kneeling man in distress could feel the oozing blood fall from behind his ear, trickling down his neck and under his uniform. It was an unsettling sensation and one he didn't want to repeat, not that he had much choice in the matter.
The knife was jerked back into the wounded man's shoulder and he yelled out in agony, the pain was unbearable and his eyes very nearly clouded over. He screamed for help and for some shred of morality or compassion but there was none to be found in the cold red eyes of his torturer. Again, the knife was removed with a menace deeper than the Atlantic and the tip of the feared weapon was pressed to his jugular vein. He prayed long and hard.
The blade pressed deeper, not yet breaking the skin but very close to it. The man's eyes fluttered open, the begging of mercy floating and swirling in the blue spheres.
"Please…no…god no…let me go…" His pleas went unheard and the knife went clean through. Blood splattered everywhere, covering every available surface and there was only one large void in the numerous spots now decorating the walls. He fell to the floor, convulsing in an irregular fashion. He brought his hand to cover the wound, trying to stop the spurting blood but he knew he was gone for.
He heard the recognisable sound of phase pistols being fired and he smiled, curling his lips in a twisted manner. Inside, he was laughing, as one does when in ironic situations. They arrived too late too save him.
There was a clink followed by a thud and he knew his killer had finally fallen, left to see his own fate. He tightened his grip on his neck spurred on by the desire to live. He couldn't die now, not when his friends and companions had arrived to save him. It would have made their rescue attempt a vain one. With a newfound will, he struggled and fought till his strength gave out.
His friend, the two closest friends he had on the ship were by his side and he felt himself being lifted from the bloodstained ground. He could hear the support to keep fighting, to keep struggling for a now ounce of life. Not wanting to suffer the fate his killer had so willingly set for him.
He fought every inch to regain life.
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