My asylum...

I staggered backwards, tripping over my own feet in panic. The devil’s minion was stood in front of me, admiring his handy work whilst I used every last ounce of my energy calling out for the help that even I knew would never arrive. Blood poured from my chest slowly, the dry stickiness driving me insane. The blood soaked my plain white tee, casting a slow spreading stain in the lower half of my body.

My killer took a large stride further towards me, lancing the knife into my upper chest. He’d punctured my lungs; I felt the blood fill my lungs, confining my oxygen allowance. My breathing got faster; I found it harder to breathe in oxygen that satisfied my body. I finally found it impossible to breathe, falling forward onto the floor, my killer watching me in amusement, he found some sick pleasure in watching his victim suffer; it’s like he was recording everything that happened whilst I died. He watched me intently, eyes not once leaving my suffering body. I wanted to yell out, to scream for help or even mercy; but I couldn’t. Every fibre of my being told me to just focus on my breathing, and surviving for a few precious extra minutes - which I’d convinced myself I was to be saved in. But nobody came; dark blobs appeared behind my eyes, clouding my vision. I blinked once; twice, but my vision stayed clouded, floater’s moved around my eyes halting where the devil’s minion once stood. They stayed there for a few moments before moving around my eyes once again, leaving me alone in the room. He’d disappeared. I’d been left alone to die, silently choking to death on my own blood. I felt my vital fluids completely fill my lungs, not allowing me to breathe whatsoever. Plasma poured out from my chest, trickling down my body. But a new feeling overcame me, a strange feeling at the base of my throat. It rose slowly, tasting like metal whenever it hit the back of my tongue. Then it happened. I lost all control of my body as it started its own process of spewing the thick liquid from my lungs to the only place it could possibly go; from my mouth to the floor beneath me. My jaws opened instinctively, allowing the blood to gush from my throat onto the floor beneath me. It felt un-natural, not right somehow. I coughed, trying to allow the thick red liquid to flow from me faster, I couldn’t deal with not being able to breathe, but it only made it worse; the blood clotted in my throat either not coming out at all or just rarely oozing from my nose and mouth in large thick clumps of solid blood.

I slid my eyes around the room in panic; I needed something to help me, fast. I turned to my left, almost dying from fear when I saw him again; face inches away from mine, eyes scanning my obvious panicked and scared eyes. His deep brown hair fell gently over his forehead, feathering down to his neck. How could something this beautiful be in relation with the devil? I thought all things beautiful were created by God, and all things ugly were created by Satan? He couldn’t be with god… Why would God need to kill me? What have I done?

I coughed and spluttered more, I didn’t care if the man next to me stabbed me and abused me any more than he already had. I just needed the blood out of my lungs; I needed the oxygen to flow through my body, lighting up everything. My brain couldn’t cope without the oxygen, my thoughts began to slow. Time around me itself felt like it had slowed. My ears began to buzz with lack of oxygen getting around my body. I attempted to draw in a deep breath, only being awarded with all the blood that had made its way up my throat to clog again further back in my throat. It had now completely cut of my breathing circulation. There was no saving me now…

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