A Peacekeepers Nightmare

Chapter 22:Death struggle

Today started out as a normal day in the prison camp. The guard who has my sword unlocked my cage while another guard handcuffed me and began to walk me out of the cabin to the school. My hands are cuffed in front of my torso so that I can use a pencil. Everything is normal.

Then it happened.

I heard grenade explosions and gunfire in the woods, and I saw rebels rushing all around.

"The loyalists are attacking!"

Rescuers. This is good.

"You, kill the peacekeeper and be out shortly."

"Yes sir."

This is not good.

The rebel who has my sword obeys his order while the other rebel goes out to join his comrades on the battlefield. He pulls a combat knife from his sheath.

I do not freeze up, nor do I stand like a paralyzed deer awaiting his fate.

I attack first.

Catching the rebel off guard, I grab hold of the knife.

He is able to push me off of him and swings his knife at me.

I dodge back.

He swings his knife left to right.

I step back again.

He swings his knife down at my head.

I raise my handcuffs up, blocking the sharp blade.

My cuffs do not break, but I am able to grab hold of the knife.

The rebel soldier kicks my legs out from under me.

I still do not let go of the knife, so we both go down.

We wrestle for the knife, neither one being able to get the other one to let go.

He headbutts me, and I begin to feel dizzy. I still do not let go of the knife.

I roll on top of him and he sits up.

My hands are still holding the knife while my arms are around his arms and torso.

I kick his back away from me while letting go go the knife, being sure my handcuff chains connect with his throat.

The momentum makes him throw his knife out of reach. He tries to crawl to it but I hold him back. I tighten the chain around his throat.

He gives up on the knife and starts to clutch at his bleeding throat. I keep holding tight.

He is gasping for air, and I still hold steady.

Eventually, his gasps and struggling grows weaker and weaker.

Eventually they stop.

After some time, I feel comfortable enough to loosen my grip.

His face was pallor stricken, and blood was flowing from his throat and his mouth.

I do not know why I felt his pulse: it was not a conscious decision.

He is dead.

Mechanically, I untie his belt and take it (and my sword) off him. I then tighten the belt and sword around myself.

I take a few breaths, I will need to go out to help the loyalists soon.

But for now I let my breathing return to normal.

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