I Married To My Murderer

Despite his good looks, he is the murderer. His eyes are striking green. Just like the color of new grass. His tall cheekbones and dimples can make any young lady drop on her knees. His expression is cold, full of despair and appeal. His tall figure is overwhelming. He is dressed in black, with a v-neck shirt, dark pants, and dark calfskin boots. His white hair was about to cover his eyes. The contrast between his handsome appearance and his sinister demeanor is chilling. It's as if he is hiding his true nature behind a facade of charm and beauty. I can hear the sound of rain in the dim backstreet. He is holding a gloomy blade, prepared to thrust it against her skin. I ponder how he managed to find such a collectible piece as the gloomy blade he is holding. It must be harmed in the event that one gets wounded by it. I gaze at the lady who is looking back into his eyes valiantly, not battling back at all. She is wearing Navy Force pants and a plain white shirt. I took note of a silver chain with a triangular shaped pendant. Her uncovered feet were bleeding. She must have run a lot to end up with her feet dirty and exhausted. I let out a moan. I am hiding behind the garbage box, watching the scene unfold. How many times have you woken up in the middle of the night to use the washroom only to find yourself in the future? The rain seeps through my clothes as I witness my future self's demise before me. Typically, this is not the first time I have walked into the end of the. Actually. In any case, typically the primary time I strolled into the scene where I was reaching to pass on. I ponder what I ought to do. Should I observe my future self pass on or interfere? They appear like they are stuck in an eye bolt, talking through their eyes. The fellow isn't considering whether he ought to murder her or not. There's no wavering. She knows that she will pass it on, but she isn't attempting to spare herself. Resignedly, she raises her right hand marginally in my direction, signaling me not to interfere. She knows that I am here. "Noah Whitaker" Her voice is scarcely a whisper, but I listen to it. The corner of her lips tilts up into a warm grin. Wow! I think I may have lost my mind. Is she attempting to kick the bucket with a grin or attract him? The fellow doesn't reply to her. He doesn't show any reaction or response to her words. He doesn't, indeed, squint. She will evaporate if he so much as flicks or utters a word. He drives the knife right into the intestine. She remains eerily silent. I do not understand how she manages to remain silent despite the pain. I do indeed shout when I get a paper cut. I covered my mouth. I have seen some horrible things recently. I have walked into similar scenes. I have spent some time stuck in the future. Traveling through time is not enjoyable. But seeing yourself kick the bucket like this can be the primary time. As he stabs her, she leans on him and bites her lips in response. She looks in my direction and shakes her head. She glanced at the divider once. I took note of the motion picture blurb with a discharge date. He wounds her once more and lets her drop to the ground. The rain is washing away her blood. He twists down on one knee and inclines toward her. He touches her cheek with his finger. I heard a wry chuckle come out of her mouth. She passes on with a grin on her face, as if she has won a fight. I do not know what I am feeling. I would be lying on the off chance that I said that I do not require therapy. He slowly stands up and turns around. He is still holding the blade. I realized that the rain had stopped pouring down. He strolls in my direction and stops close to the trash boxes. "Come out." I came out of my hiding place and confronted him, like a trick. I can not blame my future self for being brainless. Here, I am confronting my killer in my pajamas. "You can not change the future." I scream when he shoots the blade in my direction. I instinctively shield myself with my arms and take a step back in fear. I bumble and drop back on my butt. I brace myself for the pain, but to my surprise, nothing happens. When I open my eyes, I am back in my room, drenched from head to toe. A limited knife is lying close to my feet.