Breathless
I shrieked in terror at the penetrating eyes that beheld the reflection of my gaze. I gasped for air as they grabbed my throat, pushed me to the ground and tightened their grip. Meanwhile another being muffled my mouth and nose with one still hand.
I tried and tried again at calling for help, but I could barely breathe let alone say something. My legs hit the grass beneath them in an insane manner until - despite my will to fight against the weight of my murderer's fingertips - they sprawled out, numb and lifeless.
I had never considered death and its process. Indeed, I thought my own would be quick and peaceful (don't we all?) yet I was and am mistaken. Right now. This moment. This process in which death meets its victim, is untimely. It seems death wishes to mock me as it draws the curtain on my conscience. It seems I am incapable of reaching out for the splintering light of hope…Have you known death? Have you looked upon its face, scarred with the wild clawing of its victims attempting to resist, and ever cried out for mercy? I'm sure you haven't. But I have.
I was weak. I was breathless. Death had partnered with its mortal apprentice to finish the deed.
I felt my eyes burning up, weeping tears of fury over the mangled body they once knew alive and healthy. My neck felt hard and stiff, nevertheless, as easy to shatter as glass.
My murderer gently released my neck and the other removed their hand from my face.
My eyes fluttered, still open, and gazed at the sky.
I blinked. My eyes rolled.
How did I survive, I hear you ask?
Well, the truth is, I don't think I did.