Sorry its been so long but I've had science fair and a bagillion OTHER things to work on too *dies* In other words, I am busy as usual. Life just doesn't want to give me a break, does it?

Cockapoo: Thank you! :D And yes, I know, but she's an LA girl xD AKA: no jackets xD Yeah, I saw! I loved it! :D :D :D

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GLN3: xD Well, now you know my main rule of life xD But my catchphrase is "keep it PG!" *smh* xD

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Disclaimer: You seriously think I own PJO? If I did, I'd make a character for myself and make her date one of the Stolls xD

Remember to review! I love reading them :D (And if anyone can guess my small musical reference I'll be impressed xD)

My chest heaves as it drags in the last of my ragged breaths. My hand slides weakly outward, an attempt to grab onto whatever reality I can manage. The tip of my middle finger gently touches the wall, that cold, cold wall. The wall that envelops me every night haunts me every day. It's an ever present omen of death, always enveloping me.

There he stands, his back facing me, my murderer. The one who leaves me every night within an inch of death. His hands are cold and his soul is colder. His breath is equally ragged but also forced, as if asthmatic. He turns and his pointed facial features seem to tease me. He knows that I understand what comes next. He knows that my death is near once more. He knows that I know the same.

He strokes his blade as a cold smile forms on his face. No, not a smile. A smirk.

In swift, cat-like movements, the man makes his way toward me. He grabs at my wrist, forcing me to stay put, as he forces the cold blade to my neck. His cold, blue eyes bare into mine and I feel a flicker of recognition from inside of me. I've seen those eyes. I've seen them before... somewhere.

I shut my own eyes tightly, forcing myself to imagine other things. I clench my fingers into a fist, my nails digging into my palms so tightly that I'm afraid it'll bleed. My feet are bound to the ground by rough ropes that I have long since stopped trying to fight. Still, the skin around my ankles is rough and raw, pulsating with pain that doesn't seem to die down. It's as if every single nerve in my body was at attention. The pain is unbearable.

You've seen me fall down. Just let me die here.

But just letting me die seems to be the opposite of his plan. This time, he speaks no words yet the look on his face and the darkness in his eyes say it all. He won't let me go easily.

I breathe in a ragged breath as he slowly digs the knife into the flesh of my cheek. Warm, sticky blood pours down my cheek, mingling with my soft tears. A small sob forms in my throat yet I refuse to let it out. I refuse to give my captor the pleasure of seeing my pain. I refuse to let him win.

His knife makes its way to my lips, digging into the soft and vulnerable skin, ripping it in painfully slow motions. I feel as if I am about to cry out yet I pull myself through. And although all my instincts tell me to fight, I stay completely still. My ADHD screams at me to punch the man yet I force myself to stay down. If he is powerful enough to capture me then he must be powerful enough to throw me back down.

The smile on his face can only be described as pestiferous. I stare into his eyes, daring him to go further, daring him to do so much as touch me. Yet he cares not, doing as he pleases with the knife, slitting my skin slowly. Ever so slowly.

A soft hooting noise echoes from the window. My eyes flicker upward, searching for the source of the noise. Two large eyes stare back down at mine. There it is, as always, my saving grace. My owl.

It cocks its head to the right as if attempting to understand the scene before him. And then a small recognition finds its way into his large eyes and he hops through the broken window pane. Yet he just stays there, wings slightly extended. In the position that the animal is in, it looks as if it is about to take flight yet its feet are stuck for some reason. He simply stands there.

From the same broken window pane, another animal pulls through. My vision is so affected with the blood, sweat and tears on my face that, at first, I don't make it out. Yet I soon realize what it is. A snake, scaly and bright green, its pink, forked tongue flicking back and forth.

It makes its way to the owl, resting itself beside it. It curls itself up into a coil as if prepared to pounce. But, like the owl, it does nothing. The pair does nothing.

Yet when the man lifts his knife once more, the owl takes flight, followed promptly by the snake as it slithers its way towards me. The animals attack the man, yet he quickly swats them away.

I lie there, bleeding myself to death, as the animals fight off the man, pestering him into insanity.

And slowly, I drag in one last breath and my eyes close for what seems like the last time.