I took one last look at him. Then turned. My friends charged somehow faster than I thought. But, even faster, my arm was locked in someone’s grasp and a blade was held to my throat. Somehow I couldn’t believe it was him.
My friend’s shouts and threats came to me in loud mumurs. I looked back in disbelief. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t frightened. I think some where in there, I still trusted him. To not hurt me. I knew he could take my life right then and there. But I knew he wouldn’t. I believed in him. I believed he knew better. I believe he wouldn’t have the heart to.
Minutes felt like hours. Soon I got pushed forward, my hand grabbing at my throat where I felt a pericing pain. But there was no scar. There wasn’t blood. I wasn’t hurt.
When I realized this, it was too late to stop my friends. Two of my boys, both skilled in matrial arts, jumped forward. Somehow they were having difficulty. One of my best friends wanted to join, but I grabbed her wrist just in time. Her boyfriend held her back for me. He was saying something but I couldn’t understand.
When I looked back, the fight wasn’t a fight anymore. One of my friends was kneelling on the ground. He looked hurt. The other was no where to be found. The blade was coming for him. Out of…I don’t even know what, I grabbed his wrist just as he got up and spun in front of him. My back was milliseconds away from the shinning blade. I waited. My breathing had quickened. I felt like I had just ran. I waited. But still the pain never came.
I looked down at my friend, his eyes looking up at me in horror. We both thought I was hurt. I felt the blade on me. I had felt it. The cold metal touched my skin. But when I looked back, the person at the end of the blade was gone. The blade itself vanished.
My friends gathered around me in franic worry. They all threw questions and examined me. I felt pale. I felt confused. I called for…who was it…? He made the crowd go away. But they wouldn’t go. More people came. Then more. People were touching me.
I looked up at him, “Am I okay? Am I hurt?”
He didn’t say anything.
“I felt the blade.” I told him. “I felt it on my back.”
I didn’t hear anything from him.
I stared at the ground in disbelief. I had felt the blade. I felt it on my back. How wasn’t I hurt? How wasn’t I in pain?
I began to walk forward. Hand grasped at me. Voices yelled at me to stop. But I didn’t understand. What was the commotion about? I was fine. He hadn’t hurt me. I trusted him, and for once I was right. He hadn’t hurt me.
One step. Two step. A knife plunged through my back. I gasped for air. My body slowly, very slowly, started to fall forward. Pain. Piercing pain. It grew. It spread. My back. My neck. My neck? I grabbed at it, midway to the ground, and felt the blood. Some dried…but how? I wasn’t suppose to be hurt. But everything hurt. My heart hurt the most.
Blackness came quickly. Then everything…just…stopped.