AN:/ SHITTY WRITING ALERT! I REPEAT, SHITTY WRITING ALERT! This shit is also super-short. I hate the title. I'm not very creative. Okay, so I liked this at first, but now I think it just plain, flat-out sucks. Seriously. I felt like it was good idea even though it was probably was done before and most likely be done a million times again, but you know… I just had to. Haha, not really, and I know I've said this once, but I'll say it again: I am not Fanfiction's bitch, so I won't be constantly writing and writing and writing. Sorry but I have more important things to do. Meant to be ambiguous 'til the end. …Even if it is really obvious who it is. Pairings are unclear, though in my mind I know who I want it to be.

Disclaimer: I really hate writing these things but whatever: I do not, and I repeat do not, own PJO or Eminem's "When I'm Gone" 'cause I'm not Rick Riordan and the previously mentioned rapper. Though I sometimes wish I was. Not really, I enjoy being of the female gender.

{Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling
And I didn't feel a thing, So baby don't feel no pain
Just smile back}

Time slowed. The dagger came gleaming, shimmering in his failing vision. Like an angel for his redemption. He could feel it pierce skin, flesh, and tissue. Tearing it like paper. He could hear her sobs of anguish, the pounding in his ears. Taste the sweetness of victory in his mouth. Smell the blood, sweat, and tears of the war he helped start.

The war he was about to end.

But the second before the tip touched his heart his arm jerked back, and he was thrown behind the bars in his mind. A prisoner in his own body.

Through the black spots clouding his sight, he could see the faint glow emanating from his body. There was feeling of the knife in hands that were his, yet at the same time not. They were the hands of the enemy. The one that strung him up like a puppet, controlling every move he made. He could hear sound of another's laughter, dark and grating and sending shivers up his spine, coming from his mouth. The flavour of evil rested upon his tongue, the aftertaste of being possessed by the vengeful deity. The sour scent of scalded skin made his nostrils burn and his insides curl.

No, he would not let this fate become him. He would overcome the odds.

Her sobs were louder now, broken words sputtering from her mouth. Memories burst through the shroud, bringing light to his fading lifeline.

The laughter that broke the brief silence was music to his ears. Images, flickering in and out sight, coloured the darkness. Sounds, touches, tastes faded every passing instant. The two of them in the alley where they had first met; swinging high in the sky, her hair dancing in the breeze; both of them sitting in an isolated cave, whispering and holding hands; their first touch; first kiss; the heartbreaking expression on her face the moment she learned of his betrayal. They played like a slideshow—there one minute and gone the next. The cinnamon taste of her tongue lingered in his mouth; the saltiness of her skin. It beat him down as if he were a drum. His rough, battle-hardened hands on her smooth skin; the softness of her lips; his fingers in her thick, heavy hair. It only lasted for the tick, tock of a clock. The sharp scent of her artificially scented shampoo; the subtle fragrance of her honeysuckle body mist; the feminine odour of her vanilla deodorant. The things that he would remember most brought him new strength.

So, with this new strength, he fought the enemy within him.

Like a bird fleeing from its cage, he flew out fast and free, taking his life with the cursed blade that plunged into his chest, hilt-deep, killing him along with the being in his body. As their life force drained from his body, pooling in a thick, sticky puddle, he couldn't help but smile. And as he smiled, he hoped that she smiled back.

For the briefest second, she did.

AN:/ Ew. This fic is such a joke. What a piece of crap. Review, darlings, it'll get me out of my bad mood.