Playing With Death.

I woke up with my hands cuffed, standing in a room full of sheeted furniture. Other than that, a mirror sat beside me. No windows. Strange. The only light source was a naked bulb that hung in the middle of the room. Then, I finally saw him.

“I was once a hero too.”

His voice is hoarse as he speaks, his eyes captivating my soul. He had a long bayonet in his hand. He walks towards me quickly. His eyes were as cold and intense as a snowstorm.

“I was completely delusional. I wanted to save everyone, just like you. But you know what?”

His palm grasped my face, holding the blade of the knife against the skin of my neck.

"Life doesn’t let you be a hero. It just breaks you, it destroys you, it gets you on your knees until you are ready to give in.”

He grits clasping the sharp blade a little further as I gasp out a little, my wrists wet with sweat.

“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough,” I speak, with my voice becoming numb as the very words begin to leave my lips. His eyes met mine and I felt the thrilling contact in my bones. Pure hate reflected in them, the burning desire just to slit my throat but the chains of fidelity towards the authority restrained him. He leans forward, the tips of our noses brush against each other as I part my mouth a little to control my breathing.

“You think you’re superior?”

A mirage of a scowl at the corner of his lips. His green eyes looked through me.

“No. I’m not superior.” I speak. “I’m brave.”

“You’re playing a very risky game and if you’re not aware of the consequences.” He mutters. I just let out a small laugh, provoking him further as his grip tightens around the knife and I felt the slightest pinch against my neck.

“You’re not strong enough to survive the storm, darling.” He whispers into my ear.

“I don’t have to be, I am the storm,” I whispered, glaring at him.

“Go ahead then, paint me as a villain in your story,” he speaks before gliding the dagger on my skin smoothly, “because I’ll gladly be the one to end you.” A subtle challenge comes onto me, a smile curling up the corner of my lips.

“You can’t end me. You don’t own that kind of power.”

His face was full of rage, hate and anger. He lets go of my throat and stabs the mirror, scattering shards of glass everywhere. I froze with fear, holding in my breath. Sweat dripping down my temple. A creepy smile appears on his face, full of pleasure. I felt something tickling my leg, I looked down, horrified. My leg had been sliced open by a piece of glass. Blood flooded my leg like a rose blossoming in the summer. I clutched my leg in pain, the handcuffs reducing my movement. I looked up, scowling at my opponent.

“I changed my mind,” he exclaimed loudly revealing a very big smile, “you don’t really deserve to die so quickly, I shall take my time with you.”

“Do as you please.” I scoffed loudly.

He stood out in front of me tossing his sharp knife high into the air. The room was engulfed in silence. Suddenly, he throws the knife in my direction. It lands with a thud next to me, skimming my arm. I gasp, imagining the pain if the knife hadn’t have missed. I was shaken to reality when I felt a hand grasping my neck, squeezing the life out of me. I felt my eyes bulging out of their sockets, my head getting heavier, my body going limp.

“P-pl-lease,” I pleaded with my last breath. I looked up, his eyes twinkled with pleasure.

He loosened his tight grip, plunging me hard to the ground. I desperately gasped for air, coughing uncontrollably. My throat ached with pain. I felt my neck with my palms, feeling dents in my skin.

“A-o-ow” I tried to say, but my lips not pursuing me. He smiled sadly at me, kneeling right next to me.

He shook me by the shoulders vigorously.

"You need to wake up, it's time."