The Prey

I was not afraid of death, but the man breathing over my head.

Ready to take my soul.

Demolish me. And then devour me.

As if he hadn't done it already.

I didn't know how I was still breathing, or why was I even alive. He should plung this knife into my chest and kill me too. Cause I couldn't watch it. How could I when a man was squirming on the floor in his own blood.

Everything around me was shrinking, suffocating me in the violence.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked disbelievingly Judas—calm, collected, eerily unbothered by the pool of blood now seeping...