i stared.
she didnt look anything different from others,
her pink hood pulled down,
her posture calm, relaxed.
but the moment she sprang on those nimble feet.
i knew what was coming ahead.
a hidden dagger drawn out from the sheath,
a flash.
jumping to the side, dodging it only slightly,
swiftly, yet effortlessly,
she made another slice, this time ripping the shirt.
there was no escape.
her third blow, poised,
pushing away those blocking arms with ease,
delivering the stab right into the chest.
lethal, vicious, yet of no malice intention.
the metal blade that sunk quickly into the flesh.
in between my two rib bones,
skillfully stopping a few inches before the heart.
so i would not be granted instant death.
she never looked back,
springing immediately off on those feet with the same speed she approached.
i stared. not at that sticking blade.
or that bleeding chest.
but at the sand, and the dust that her feet picked up.
there is no catching up, only hopelessly falling down, knees soft.
... ...
waking up to the pains,
my one hand clutching a very same blade into my chest, and fragmented pieces of a mirror thrown across the floor.
so i had been smiling, laughing to that reflection.
my hands, stained with my own blood.
i had to stab myself in my wounds.
i sit on the floor.
my lungs like a balloon, trying to inflate.
unknown that there was a gaping hole i pierced in myself.
inspirations from the assassin mouse.
Labels: expression, memory
