The Guilliotine

It was dark, if I remember correctly.          

And before we go on, let me explain. I was never here. Of course, you'll never tell. No ones ever dares to, without consequences. Also, this story is....how do you say? An apparition.          

Now, listen carefully. It begins.          

It was a dark and quiet Hallow's Eve, somewhere that no one can remember, and that I can't tell you. The wind blew. The trees rustled. The precious fountain lay on the other side of the river. All she needed to do was touch it. It was right at her fingertips. Even in death, she tried to reach out, seeking hope, blood streaming down her face, and crying tearless, broken sobs. Her clothes-or what were left of them, anyway-were tattered, and grimy from her wallowing in the mud, clawing her way to the fountain. Her dirty and disheveled hair left hanging from her face, flowing into her mouth, as he held her down.          

He took out his knife then. Well, it wasn't really a knife, in fact, I can't even describe it. It was sharp and long, like a knife, and it made the most terrifying noise when he ran his long, bony fingers across the sharp end. Indeed, even the handle was cold against her back. The poor girl couldn't even wail anymore. She was lost, and most unfortunately, trapped here, with a pursuer, tortured. She knew there was no hope left for her; the reserves had gone out. She had a choice to make. She could die peacefully, without a fight, or she could go down swinging. It took her but a second to make up her mind.          

She grabbed the pocket knife that had fallen from the man when she was tackled, now laying beside her, and made a deep gash in the man's arm. She twisted as the blade exited the man's flesh. She managed a kick, and then another, to the man's groin, clawing restlessly at his face, making very noticeable marks that reddened against it, and bruised quickly. She even had strength enough to raise her head and bite into his shoulder. He winced, but otherwise, he never let go. He cried out in pain when she kicked him twice in the chest, and called her some very unflattering names. He wailed until he was hoarse with rage. He removed something from his satchel, and proceeded to pour it on her. She made as much sound as she could, which was not much. It was scorching hot, thick, and runny. It took it's time slowly creeping down her now-unaligned spine to burn into her flesh, to scar her, mark its territory.          

The man let out an evil, high-pitched laugh; one that held no humor in it at all; and he did something appalling then. He took his wrist, and stuck the spot where she cut him to her mouth. She tried to scream, but it was already pressed so hard against her face, she could no longer breathe. The man pressed her head against it even more. She ruefully complied. She was crying harder than ever, her tears streaming down her face, but at the same time, regaining her own strength, about to push him off, and run away. But what was the point? And where would she go? She'd quickly tire out, or stumble and fall like an idiot, without the strength to pull herself up, making her capture easier. She was just fingertips away from that precious fountain. Fingertips. But the man had hold of her, and wouldn't be letting go anytime soon, she knew. So she made the choice to instead comply, and go down peacefully, and that's where it all ended.          

The man chuckled, a cold, condecending chuckle, one that echoed against nothing, and came back stinging and buzzing at her ears, plunging the blade into the back of her neck. She knew it was all over before it was. She struggled with the last bit of life she had, before succumbing to the inevitable. The man smiled, even laughed to himself. He brushed himself off, and did unspeakable things with that body. And when he was done, he kicked it to the side. He put all his tools back into his satchel,and walked away. And the body of the girl touched the Fountain of Immortality...          

And finally, my soul was released.