If I close my eyes I ca still see the empty faces. Unmarked, unclaimed but still laughing in hatred for no reason I can explain. I hate it. My blood runs cold, there is sweat beneath my shirt. I can feel it rolling down my neck and between my shoulder blades before it soaks into my shirt. 

Cold steel is pointed at me. A hand is pressed against my neck. It's harder than I have ever imagined to inhale with the threat of my chest being holes in response to any wrong doings. 

I have sinned. I'll never admit I have not. That in itself would be a lie. But while there is blood staining my feet dripping into rain puddles I'm still not sure the cause that has led me here. 

What circumstances is there for blood stained feet, air cut off, a stranger besides a familiar look pressing a gun to my chest? 

I don't know. 

I don't know but I'm scared enough to know if I die here there's no coming back. I'll be lost in limbo staining the empty fields of disarray with an I hot I can't get rid of. 

Is this murder? Is this assisted suicide? Is my subconscious pushing and pulling? A past memory? 

I can't tell if it is as my vision starts to fade. It's like looking into the camp fire on a night with no moon. The witching hour has passed us. If I wake up. I hope I wake up.... Those are the last thoughts I have before sickening laughter over takes the rest of me. I hear a clock. A pop. A devouring plethora of crunch and searing pain. My chest feels heavy. 

Is it okay if I just disappear?.....