December 5, 2012
I don’t want to die, I thought. I could feel the blade against my throat, more and more. At this point it was getting hard to breath, hard to think, I feel like giving up. I couldn’t see anything, for whoever was doing this had a sack of some sort over my head. Flailing my arms proved pointless, along with my legs; they were quickly restrained.

I heard a faint voice asking me questions, though I could not make out everything. I just sat there, helpless. I thought back, I couldn’t remember much, but I remembered my surroundings before I was blinded. I did not recognize anything that I had seen around me. I’m somewhere I have no idea about, surrounded by strangers, with a knife to my neck. Could it get any worse?

What I thought to be the knife against my neck pressed harder, making a slit in my throat. I could feel blood drip down my neck. I attempted once again to flail my arms and legs, or at least get loose, but quickly realized movement may worsen my position with the blade. I couldn’t do a thing; I might as well face death.

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