My Tragedy

I was normal once. Naturally I had a mother, a father, maybe even siblings. But I don't remember them. I can't. I imagine that maybe I look like my mother. Average height. I'm not short, but not tall. Average looks, small mouth, wide eyes, long nose. I am not a stunning beauty, but I'm not ugly either. May hair is shoulder length, brown, and has never held a curl. There is nothing outstanding about myself.

Except for one thing.

One tragedy.

I was killed on my way to my car late one night after school.

On my shoulder was my book filled bag, weighing me down. I'd chosen the cute shoes over practical earlier that day and my feet throbbed with each and every step I took. The slight hill towards the parking lot wasn't any help. But I kept going, what else could I do? The lot was dark and there were no other cars around. “Damn.” I whispered. I never liked to park so far away so late at night. But I had no choice. I had a late night class, and by the time I would get there, the downtown parking lot was open to everyone. The clubs, the strip joint, and the bars down the street from the collection of college buildings always drew in a lot of traffic.

So I was forced to park five blocks away, down the dark road, at the dimly lit park that was filled with vagrants and transients. I struggled internally for a moment. My phone was buried in the bottom of my bag. My keys were in my jacket pocket. The weather was cold, and wet, and I could tell that the roads were already beginning to ice over. My shoe slipped and I stumbled slightly. I quickened my pace and reached into my pocket, searching for my keys. Only ten feet from my car I heard footsteps. Not my own. Heavier. I saw my own demise flash before my eyes.

Grabbed. Raped. Chopped into little tiny pieces. The only thing that they would be able to use to identify my mutilated body would be my DNA. The footsteps got closer and I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. Running wasn't an option. Even if I got to my car before he got to me, there was no way I would be able to get the door unlocked and jump inside.

My attacker grabbed my bag and yanked and sent me toppling backwards. A scream tore from my lips and then there was a cool sharp blade against my throat. It cut through my skin. There was a sudden contrast of the cool air, and then the warm sticky blood that began to drip down the sides of my neck. I gurgled and sputtered. I looked up at the man above me. He was tall, and dressed in jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt, his face was covered with a scruffy beard. My bag had landed beside me and I tried to reach up, fumbling as I attempted to drag open the zipper to find my cell phone. Not that it would really do me any good. Suddenly my bag was yanked out of my reach.

I gave up and stared up at the sky. The moon was mostly covered by clouds. I couldn't make out any stars. There was a sound I didn't understand. A painful scream. It wasn't coming from me. Slowly I let my head fall to the side but I couldn't see anything. Then I heard the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. I could hear the blood in their throat. He gurgled and gasped. But I saw nothing but an empty stretch of parking lot.

The gurgling stopped and I heard something I can't describe, and then a loud crack. A second later the head of my attacker rolled into my view. I just stared at it, silently thankful that someone had killed the man that killed me. Because I was positive I was going to die. There was a slurping sound that was growing quieter and quieter as the black pulled me in.