• Staring at the terror coming towards me. I see nothing but flashbacks of this happening before. I should have told someone when I had the chance, I think. In the back of my mind I know that the man with the knife means well. I'm dead, I know it, this is the end. Just close your eyes and this won't hurt a bit he says as he proceeds on one of his phsyco rampages. Here it comes, another scar, another night without sleep, another trip to the hospital when the neighbors get worried of my screams. The knife hits my arm and it feels cold. The warm, thick blood gushes out of the punctured limb.
    The crazy man treds by me and comes to a gentle stop. He hands me a paper towel and tells me to wipe myself off. The oddest grin engulfed his cheeks in a way that was most unimitable. I will never forget the way I bled profusely.
    In my ear I hear the whisper of...my best friend? Wake up! Hello?, the strange and familiar voice says again. I was daydreaming! But, why do I have the scar from the knife? I go home and ask my father if he remembers how I got this large and unforgiving scar. He grins and pulls out the knife. Just look away like you normally would.