Smile
Prologue
It only took one step for everything to shift, like the world was tilting with no gravity to hold me down. I was airborne, heading backwards, slamming into the wall at a boulder’s force.
Only this time, I didn’t know what hit me anymore. He was a stranger to me now.
His steps were precise, like he was making sure to step on every creaking floorboard in his way.
He smiled and then I knew. There was something, a glint in his eye, his posture, the shadows that cast over him, maybe the way the corners of his mouth curled up, and I knew he was going to kill me.
A predator and prey; we fit the roles perfectly.
There was no way I could stop him or escape. He had me secured in his jaws with no wiggle room.
This was his personal definition of torture. It was being aware, knowing that he was coming for me but not knowing when, that kept me on the balls of my beat and my heart pounding. I was waiting for death, as awful as that seemed, and I hoped for its swiftness. Remembering the days with him that were good and wanting them back, it brought regret and yearning to a situation one wouldn’t honestly think possible. Knowing that your choices are what got you there, knowing that you caused your own death. You could have been at home, safe. I could have been safe.
Instead, I was there, staring at the only person who had ever made me feel so alive, staring at the man who held my token of life.
I couldn’t pray to go to heaven. I couldn’t think of wishing Him to somehow tell my family I loved them, that this wasn’t their fault. He wouldn’t help me, I knew that. It was just a inconsequential glimmer of hope I held near to my heart as he raised his arm and hit me with the hammer.
I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I was only aware that my arm had been in an uncomfortable looking position when he turned me over so I was facing the ceiling of the cabin.
He loomed over me, another shadow cast in the nearly pitch black room. God knew I didn’t have neighbours to hear me scream when he pulled out the knife.
He made it slow. I could hardly see behind the tears, and I couldn’t move or feel anything below my neck. The cuts weren’t on my body, but on my face.
It felt like hours before he was finally done. My voice was gone from screaming and the searing pain seemed to be all I could sense. I only knew that my face wasn’t the only thing harmed, but my entire body because he lifted my head up to show me.
I was bleeding everywhere. I had gushing wounds not even the best surgeon could repair.
The blood filled my eyes. The last thing I heard was the slamming of the door. He was gone, and I was dead.
Only this time, I didn’t know what hit me anymore. He was a stranger to me now.
His steps were precise, like he was making sure to step on every creaking floorboard in his way.
He smiled and then I knew. There was something, a glint in his eye, his posture, the shadows that cast over him, maybe the way the corners of his mouth curled up, and I knew he was going to kill me.
A predator and prey; we fit the roles perfectly.
There was no way I could stop him or escape. He had me secured in his jaws with no wiggle room.
This was his personal definition of torture. It was being aware, knowing that he was coming for me but not knowing when, that kept me on the balls of my beat and my heart pounding. I was waiting for death, as awful as that seemed, and I hoped for its swiftness. Remembering the days with him that were good and wanting them back, it brought regret and yearning to a situation one wouldn’t honestly think possible. Knowing that your choices are what got you there, knowing that you caused your own death. You could have been at home, safe. I could have been safe.
Instead, I was there, staring at the only person who had ever made me feel so alive, staring at the man who held my token of life.
I couldn’t pray to go to heaven. I couldn’t think of wishing Him to somehow tell my family I loved them, that this wasn’t their fault. He wouldn’t help me, I knew that. It was just a inconsequential glimmer of hope I held near to my heart as he raised his arm and hit me with the hammer.
I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. I was only aware that my arm had been in an uncomfortable looking position when he turned me over so I was facing the ceiling of the cabin.
He loomed over me, another shadow cast in the nearly pitch black room. God knew I didn’t have neighbours to hear me scream when he pulled out the knife.
He made it slow. I could hardly see behind the tears, and I couldn’t move or feel anything below my neck. The cuts weren’t on my body, but on my face.
It felt like hours before he was finally done. My voice was gone from screaming and the searing pain seemed to be all I could sense. I only knew that my face wasn’t the only thing harmed, but my entire body because he lifted my head up to show me.
I was bleeding everywhere. I had gushing wounds not even the best surgeon could repair.
The blood filled my eyes. The last thing I heard was the slamming of the door. He was gone, and I was dead.