I swing myself through the beams of the house, my head bumping occasionally into a piece of wood. I don’t notice; the adrenaline and fear rushing through my body are overpowering; they wash away other pains that linger, waiting to be noticed later. All that matters is getting away; staying alive. My hands solidly grip the wooden rafters near the ceiling, swinging myself around the large pots and frying pans hung there. There’s a roaring in my ears; a sound of a thousand waves hitting the beach all at once. But soon, too soon, the wall stretches out in both directions, and I’m forced to turn my adrenaline-buzzed body towards the force coming towards me.

A man charges at me, a glinting, gleaming silver knife in his hand. I see the knife. I know it will hurt me; kill me. I see the man, running to me, almost upon me. But I do not put them together. My mind can not, will not, allow the two entities to be one. Their essences are opposite, my opinions of them antonyms. This knife I fear; this man I love.