I knew I was going to die. I was hanging with my life but I did not want to die. No one just wants to die like that (and in the manner I found myself. A painful death.) I had to save myself from death, somehow, the way, I did not know. I was dying, about to finally give up the ghost when I realized my legs where dangling below the armchair rest for the back. I gathered my last reserves of energy and groped for my new saviour. I found it, all this happened in just a matter of seconds. There was no time to waste, my murderer was aware of this development I had made, I heard him curse loudly “You dirty bastard!”
Let’s not talk of how my neck and head felt, maybe I’ll just tell you. My neck seemed to be on fire. My head felt like it should have busted a long time ago. The clouds in my head were hard to clear out but I was moving nevertheless, survival instincts talking their place. I did not know the kind of surgery I would have needed to repair my neck. I was trying my best to think through the black fumes in my head. I was clumsily trying to loosen the belt grip on my neck when he came over, the murderer, he said “Don’t think you’ll escape me man.”
I tried to talk, but I couldn’t make out a word, just a little strangled sound, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. He yanked the armchair from my legs, I was left to die this time, with no hope of escaping death.
I don’t believe in luck, and I believe miracles happen only once in a while, so I’m here lying in the confusion of what happened, was it luck or just a bloody miracle?
Everything has its way of setting things in place, and I guess that’s what happened. This time the grip on my neck was a bit loosened in the process of getting tight, tighter than it was before ( I assume), I was determined to loosen the grip on my neck just by shaking my head to remove my head, it didn’t work. I was damned to die.
I was been strangled to death again when I ……..fell off! Yes! I fell off, the belt must have cut or his knot must have loosened. I don’t know which was worse, the pain of the fall or the humiliation. I was weak from the heavy fall and my head pounded, my vision was blurry, I couldn’t think. I tried to get up, but all my efforts were futile. I could hear him cursing all the way towards me with something indistinct in one of his hands. I tried again to get up and run, but the flesh failed me. All I managed to do was get my hands in front of my face (both of them aching) as if shielding my eyes from a bright light, it wasn’t enough, he hit whatever he had with him on my head, I blacked out for the second time that day.
I woke up, I had passed out, but I did not die. This time I wasn’t about to be hung, I wasn’t on the floor, I was in a chair, how delightful, finally that was a place to rest my weary body. It took me fifteen minutes or thereabout to realize what exactly was happening.
I had just been floating, chasing colours behind my eyelids trying fruitlessly to put at least two and two together to make four. Finally, it all came crashing back to me, how I had been studying, how I opened the door, how I had been knocked out, how I had survived and how I had found myself in this chair. I was startled by this donning realization and I tried to move in a start, the pain in my head and neck still much alive. Whether it was because I was tied or because of my weary bones and body, I did not move. Quite unluckily for me, I drew the attention of the murderer, my seemingly old friend who had revealed his dark side to me in the last thirty minutes or so. He found out I was awake, I tried to pretend to still be unconscious, my heart ramming in my chest, helpless and scared, just thinking at what his next line of action would be, it was too late to think of that, it was too late for anything, he came over to me and the last of my rational thoughts I remember was “What in the world did I do to deserve this”
The night is dark, and it’s predictably very cold, there are hardly any visible stars and the sliver of moon that is left is covered very well by some dark clouds. The sound of someone’s voice vibrates the silent air, the leaves in the blowing trees shimmering out their silent distress calls, birds fly away in huge numbers, frightened like they always are, vultures the only ones to remain, pressing their ears trying to figure out if they would have a feast today. The shout is now muffled, then it abruptly stops. The victim has been silenced. His throat has jut been slashed with a knife, he is finally dead.
A sad way to end, I must comment, all the suspense, all the luck, just useless and wasted. (Sigh) I slept in the lord. And the truth of this matter is ……I didn’t write this story, I sent it through someone who was coming to earth, so they could all know the truth of my horrible death. He came up to me and I saw the knife, my heart was just crashing forward, I wanted to escape, but I couldn’t, it was a terrible experience, I couldn’t move, I was all tied and I knew this guy meant me. How do you feel when you know if you’re going to survive, you will have to move and then you are all tied up. That’s how I felt, I shouted my last in clear and pure built up frustration. Then he slashed my throat. I know you thought I would survive, yes I know you thought so. You’re not used to reading a first person written book in which the main character died, that is the person saying the story. Even when the person writing is in great danger, you know he wont die. As for the murderer, he was never caught, releasing his identity would be dangerous for the person writing. Yes, it’s shocking. Things like this do happen.