The Importance

To Meet My End

When I was young, I used to dream of becoming a singer. My parents told me that my voice was perfect and they had never heard anything better. I had a pretty good best friend back then. I was an innocent little girl. 

That was fun, but she got a new best friend though, and her new best friend was mean and she put me down every time I would go and hang out with the both of them. She never gave me a good feeling the way she smirked and laughed when something bad would happen to me. She never came to my defense and sometimes supported my opposition. It was then that I learned how terrible people in the world were and nothing changed those individuals.

It is somewhat strange how one person's presence or words can change everything; she ruined my relationship with my best friend to the point where we don't talk anymore. 

I'd never imagined that I would become a prisoner though. My stupid self never considered that I could be attacked the instant I took the blinds off my window. I imagine the kidnappers had a fun time seeing my stupidity when they explored the perimeter of Jane and Peter's house for loopholes to get me through.

When someone puts their hand around your neck and tells you not to make a sound, you don't scream. I am not that person. The leather-gloved hand is rough on my skin. I flinch when I feel their touch and I scream as loud as I can. That merits an immediate hand over my mouth that squeezes my face. I hear someone coming up the stairs and feel relief until I feel a cold sharp metal pressing against my neck as I am pulled closer to the window like I am a limp sack of grain. Jane bursts through the door and the sharp cold sinks deeper into my skin, the pain isn't very bad though, I am only uncomfortable now. I know that it could be much worse as warm liquid trickles out of the slit the knife has constructed. 

They are going to slit my throat. I am a bargaining chip.

"You move," the husky male voice whispers, roughly, like he has a cold, or his throat is sore, "and she dies." He says it matter-of-factly like he has the upper hand.....

Oh, he does.

My heart beats so loud, that I am sure it is no longer in my body anymore. Jane looks horrified but desperately attempts a face of calm.

"You wouldn't dare. You need her alive," her voice is shakier than she would like, yes, but at least she faintly shows some of her fear, for deceit, most feasibly.

"I would too. I actually need her dead, not alive. She will need to die if she comes with me." The voice concedes a certain naiveness to it, along with its grave sound. "Let me leave with Alexia Mrs. Mikaelson, and I promise I will return her....." I can hear the rough sneer in his voice though, and I highly doubt he has any intention of giving me back to Jane and Peter.

He might give me back dead...

He drags me another step back, towards the wafting breeze of the open window behind us. I shiver and the blade digs into my neck again. If I move, the sharp edge will draw painful blood and possible death. I can't just sit here while I am taken to my end.

Jane lunges at that instant but it is too late. We both fall out the window and are in the air for a little flight time before the ground meets us. I roll away as he cushions my landing, his back crunching in the leaves. He still has a firm grip on the knife. I try to run but he quickly jumps up, springing towards me and tackling me with amazing strength. He brings the knife close with sincerity. 

"I'm sorry. Everything will be fine, I promise." For a second, I think I hear a young boy's voice instead of the terrible gravel, but it is too late.

The cold metal quickly digs into my skin and glides swiftly across my neck, tearing who knows how many arteries.

I can't talk or scream. The warmth of the blood leaks everywhere. So warm and welcoming. I surprisingly feel no pain, just the warmth. I remember reading an article saying it takes about a minute to ninety seconds to bleed out from your throat. A gurgling sound erupts from my mouth as the warm liquid leaks from my lips. 

My captor kneels as I sink to my knees, and helps me ease onto my back in his arms. He tentatively wipes a tear that has escaped from my left eye and his gloved hand is too rough, and not meaningful enough for death. My whole body shakes, and my ocean eyes are wide as I gasp for the air I lack. I can taste my blood in the back of my throat and I can't get away from it. 

"It's okay. You're okay," he continues to whisper to me as he picks my limp form up and rushes away with me.

And I die in his strong arms.