Art of Delusion
Slowly the dull knife approached his naked face. The killer were inches from his bare throat when suddenly, he stopped in motion. The distinction from right and wrong were a line hard to draw. A hard line indeed, he thought to himself frightened.
"Is this the way im going to die" he sadly thought, while looking at the moonlit blade, eagerly awaiting its first taste of blood.
Jag har alltid gillat att skriva, så jag skrev denna lilla "sak" nu.
Läs inte in nåt i dens historia på mig. Jag hade helt enkelt lust att skriva lite :)
"Is this the way im going to die" he sadly thought, while looking at the moonlit blade, eagerly awaiting its first taste of blood.
"Is there no other way....im not ready to die!".
He tried to will the hand of the killer to drift away from its already taken path.
He tried to will the hand of the killer to drift away from its already taken path.
But no thought could change the coarse of the slowly adjecent knife.
"What have i done to my life, to deserve this?"
The leaves outside the darkly shaped windows fluttered in the distant wind.
Then a sharp thin pain came from nowhere.
The leaves outside the darkly shaped windows fluttered in the distant wind.
Then a sharp thin pain came from nowhere.
He tried to shriek but couldnt let out even the smallest of sounds. Blood came pouring down. Faster and faster.
The killers knife had only knicked his throat yet the amount of blood coming out was astounding.
The killers knife had only knicked his throat yet the amount of blood coming out was astounding.
Pain always had the strangeness of feeling more from a lesser wound. This was a fact he somehow knew from a distant memory.
The killers knife were now right in front of his left eye. Dangling almost in spite. In ridicule.
You are going to die here, the knife speaked to him.
Who could save him. There were noone in the vicinity. Not for miles.
You are going to die here, the knife speaked to him.
Who could save him. There were noone in the vicinity. Not for miles.
His eyes had been staring at the knife for so long, that they had escaped everything else.
"Maybe this is the time, maybe my final restingplace is right here" And although these thoughts would´ve scared him before, now they almost were calming. Soothing even.
He then saw the knife moving away from him. As if to take aim. As if to collect power.
"Was this it!" he thought ambigous. "Maybe this is the right thing, maybe not..." Not a single thought could stand still in his mind.
"Was this it!" he thought ambigous. "Maybe this is the right thing, maybe not..." Not a single thought could stand still in his mind.
Then he saw something that shook him. Something so horrific it made his blood turn to ice in his veins.
The arm containing the knife were not attached to any killer. The knife were in his hand. Attached to his body.
"You had this coming". A thought out of nowhere whispered in his mind. "
You are a freak, a loose cannon and must be estinguished".
You are a freak, a loose cannon and must be estinguished".
He realized he were the nameless killer. Right then, the blade came toward him in a soaring race. A race he couldnt and wouldnt win.
And so his life ended, as the knife flew into his jugular.
And as the world slowly turned dark, he only glimpsed that outside; the leaves started to calm down. And the dawn were spreading a shimmer of gold red streams.
And so his life ended, as the knife flew into his jugular.
And as the world slowly turned dark, he only glimpsed that outside; the leaves started to calm down. And the dawn were spreading a shimmer of gold red streams.
A new dawn, and yet another death. A pointless and miniscule death in the grand scheme of things. Yet another blood stained floor from just another nameless human being.
Jag har alltid gillat att skriva, så jag skrev denna lilla "sak" nu.
Läs inte in nåt i dens historia på mig. Jag hade helt enkelt lust att skriva lite :)
Tjingeling!
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