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May Contain Gore

Don't move.

Jack felt the knife against his neck. The breath of his attacker. The crimson sweat that dribbled through his vertebrae - he felt it.

A very gentle pause warmed his palms, loosened his grip. He had only one choice for escape.

A perfectly timed, swift upward kick to the attacker's shin followed by a jerk forwards moved the knife away. He grabbed the attacker's arm and in seconds they spun into a fight of strength, the knife heading everywhere.

Jack's sliding hands messily, awkwardly fumbled for a firmer grip in the other's wrists but failed. His elbow rammed into something and he pulled the attacker to an almost upright position.

His legs caught in the chair, his chest rolled around and hit the table. The knife stayed evenly between them. He threw away the attacker with all his might and got up the man ran towards him and stabbed.

With both his hands at the arms of the other, Jack kicked as hard as he could. This time the man fell to the table, his back dented onto the metal rim. Jack leapt for the knife but the attacker was too quick. It was at his neck again.

He pulled back and shoved his palm into the other's face. He pressed away as hard as he could and felt teeth bite into his skin. And the knife came closer.

Jack desperately writhed and this time managed to push the other off the table. There was a thudding crash as he got pulled over too. Pain blurred his vision with the cracking of his skull against the stone floor, but he frantically put his legs to the ground and for a split second, escaped. He lifted the end of the table and threw it over the crumple of the returning attacker.

With a leap the man got passed and dodged Jack's fist. The knife was still in the attacker's clasp and wouldn't leave. Jack scratched at the motion but failed once more. The blade plummeted into his stomach.

Motion slowed down as blood squirted through his gut. His throat coughed. His jaw tensed. His eyes dilated. His neck jolted. He screamed.

The attacker drew out and stabbed again, but Jack fell to the side. The knife missed and the attacker dived for him again. Jack threw his arms up and clutched once more and felt the jagged pain shudder through his back. The slash in his stomach ripped open and he screamed once more. The hollow, shattered, gravely voice pierced the atmosphere. But he held on.

The soaked grit and dribbling sweat was against him. On his knees, he fell backwards and the attacker pushed him to the ground. His defence falling, the blade edged closer and closer to his face.

But something made him ignore the pain. Something pushed him onwards and tightened his grip. Something drew him to look into the attacker's face.

Jack looked and did not see rage. He did not see evil, either. He saw planned, emotionless killing.

There was no smirk of guilt, no shiver of remorse. No motive of anger or reason of revenge. No explanation for the still, lifeless eyes. The dead expression. The null shape of the eyebrows, the chin, the colourless face.

Jack recognised the face. It was his father.

The moment stopped him and he slackened in shock. The knife's pounding pressure was released in a single slice downwards. Jack tried to avoid it, and then to block it. The blade swung back and was thrown at his rolling body on the floor. The attacker stood up and struck once more; Jack's unaimed palm was stabbed. The blade cut through his hand and his arm flew off uncontrollably. The blade came down again and more blood left him.

Jack couldn't feel the pain now. He could only feel his lips, chanting, questioning, silently dying.

~ mitxela

Man, that was actually quite sick >_<

Author: mitxela
This page was uploaded on 27/01/07

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