Random Short Stories (ON HOLD)

Gone

I clutched the knife at my chest. The knife that had brought agony, the knife that brought death.
My hands left the handle, sticky and covered in red.
I could feel myself going.
Soon... But not yet. I was made of studier stuff than to die right away from a lethal knife thrust.
Weakly, I grabbed the handle again, and...
I spiraled down and down.
A deep abyss waiting for me.
A deep abyss yawning below my head.
A deep abyss clawing for my soul, reaching upwards, gaining strength, almost grasping at my toes
No.
I was made of sturdier stuff than that.
My hands had slipped from the knife.
I grasped it again, and this time pulled with all my strength.
Which wasn't a lot.
Blood.
Pouring out.
Filling my vision with red.
And black.
So much black.
So much...
So....
The world spiraled down again, and I was hanging by a black thread, connected to my chest.
The abyss was down below, close but yet so far.
Just a slip of my hand, and flick of the wrist, relaxing my muscle, and I would be gone.
Give in? Give up?
No.
I was made of sturdier stuff. 
I looked up in pain, simple movements involved great effort in my new state.
The assassin stood above me, looking almost bored.
I allowed myself a small smile.
"Just hurry up and die!" He yelled, "That was my last knife," he muttered.
"You... You may have taken my body," I said, my lungs protesting," but you can never take my soul." I finished.
My vision was frayed on the edges, darkness creeping in.
The abyss came back.
Stronger.
Hungrier.
The assassin laughed as he saw the terror and fear in my eyes.
"President, I have no fear of your soul. Because without a body, you are nothing." He said, smirking.
He kicked me, and the rope holding me to the world frayed. Sparks flew out of the abyss.
He kicked me again, right at my stomach.
Hungry hands materialized out of the abyss.
Drowning.
Suffocating.
"You.. Can't take my soul.." I whispered.
The assassin just laughed at my effort.
"President, with all due respect, I just did," he said.
The rope frayed again.
Looser.
Looser.
The hands grabbed and pushed, touching my ankles.
And at last, the rope cut.
And I met my end with sweet relief.
Going.
Going.
Going.
Gone.