The shine of the metal burned my eye. I had to keep them open, though. Couldn't close my eyes. Had to keep watching.
From underneath the truck, I could see the abandoned knife sitting so close to my eye. They were fighting now. Fighting over me. I could only hope the right one won.
Please don't let me die.
Steve had told me to hide when my stalker attacked us. Jealous over Steve. But Steve was my fiancée. He shouldn't be jealous over Steve. Steve was right. He was wrong.
Steve had told me to run. I ran. Steve had told me to hide. I hid.
I couldn't see much under here, though. Sometimes I saw their feet, locked together in an ugly dance. Things picked up, though.
The knife was stolen from the ground. Someone grunted. Someone fell. Blood rolled toward me. I shifted away.
A hand came into view, reaching for me. They pulled me into a pair of arms. Steve's arms.
It was over.
Inspired by Sunday Scribblings.