Crossed Paths

I shift my weight to my right arm, rise to as much of a sitting position as I can, and look up through blood stained eyes. I can just barely see the figure of my assailant through a fine red haze. As he approaches me again, dragging some sort of bludgeon, I force myself further upright, into as dignified a position as I can.

“This is not the end of me.” I say as he grows ever closer. My arm is bleeding badly, and I’m pretty sure that there is a fracture amid impact damage. “There is far too much for me to do.”

He stops, as if gauging the life that sits broken before him, and brings what I now see to be a metal bar up to his shoulder. His blood red silhouette fills my distorted vision, looking much like a frame from a graphic novel. Time seems to slow, as he restarts his approach. He lines up with my head, and it’s over in an instant.

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