Face Death

Excellence Award in the 'Word Zone 2016' competition

Writhing, thrashing, the bands holding tight an unbeatable force, yet still I fight, the burning, the itching, flows through my veins, filling them up with an incredible pain.
Through the cold glass I see the blank stares, the rows and the rows of those empty chairs.

Time slows and I’m back in that alley, the place where my knife made a deep red valley.
The floor was dirty, yet still she lay, life force slowly draining away.
Winding around, a blood red snake, slowly pooling, a deathly lake.
Lying there, still as a rock, eyes still open, wide with shock.
No pulse, no beat, no flowing blood, my knife, it dropped, an almighty thud.
A clatter, a clang on the bloodstained floor, it was the lock of a heavy morgue drawer.

Back on the table, the end is near, the guards stand tall, blind to my fear.
The cold, dark silence, reaches for me, straining desperately, I try to flee, I take one last gasping breath, before I go to face him, Death.