I saw everything.

From the moment she ran in until the moment she hit the pavement, I had seen it all; Yet I hadn't been able to do or say anything. Like I'd been in another world, and all of my senses had been shut off; Everything but my sight.

It had been like a sickening movie I hadn't been able to stop, like watching from the corner, horrified yet fascinated.

She had realized what was going on far too late. She pulled a pistol from her pocket immediately, but even with her speed and experience, it was no where near enough.

She had been pulled off the ground, eyes wide and panicked as she tried to kick her attacker.

Her throat was being squeezed. Pupils dilated until they were almost frighteningly wide, looking like a stark animal with an open wound; Mouth open wide in a soundless scream.

Her head was whipped against the brick behind her. Once. Twice. The screaming stops. She is dropped to the ground, taken as dead.

As soon as her attacker turns she shoots him in the side with her bullets.

He turns quickly, throwing several long, jagged knives in his movement.

Time freezes for only a moment as I watch. Long, jagged blades made of metal, barbed along the sides, dirtied with rust and the blood of it's victims; Witness to their begs for mercy and unheard screams. Hers would soon join them.

They ripped through her sides; Skin puckered in the kiss of death; Long barbs caught in thick tendons and tough muscle; Edges grate against fractured bones and broken skin; And from the slits of failure, soft crimson regret pours.

I watched her bloodied body hit the cold cement at Twelve AM that day. Watched her hair flutter soundlessly; Loosened from the bonds of its hairpin prison.

I watched her body lay in the puddle of her own blood since Twelve AM that day, the golden strands left to turn red, stained by its own blood that it has been so carelessly left to stew in.

I watched her lay in her military blues from Twelve AM that day. I saw the soldier discover her body laid across the warehouse floor, watch him run to gather help.

I watched her Colonel enter his shock soon hidden by anger as he saw the knives that pierced her body; He knew the man that killed her at Twelve AM that day.

I watched the rest of her company gather at Seven PM the next evening.

I watched her coffin lower at Seven PM that evening.

I watched her friends honor her at Seven PM that evening.

I watched the Colonel cry at Seven PM that evening.

I watched her funeral with the same eyes that had seen her murder at Twelve AM.
I had watched at Twelve AM that day

I had screamed at Twelve AM that day.

I had shot at Twelve AM that day.

I had bled at Twelve AM that day.

I had died at Twelve AM that day.

I had been the victim at Twelve AM that day.