They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.
But I see nothing.
Just a blank canvas that is yet to be sketched.
A void.
Ripples of regrets.
Endless threads of ‘what ifs’.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask him as the gun continues to travel down my body.
The sharp breeze coming from the top of the staircase stabs at my flesh as my breathing becomes laboured.
Should I scream?
Yell for help?
“It won't do you any good.” He mutters, pressing the gun harder against my trembling skin as he glides it between my legs, eliciting a traitorous moan to escape between my lips. “No one will hear you.” His jaw ticks while he speaks as if he can read my racing mind.
His eyes are cold, hard, and uninviting. If I look close enough, I can see the outlines of the devil dan
