He was mid-sentence when a sharp pain cut through his body. His eyes dropped in confusion. A knife was sticking out of his stomach, the blade stained red. For a second, he didn’t understand. His mind tried to catch up, but the pain was too sudden, too real.
“W-what…?” he whispered.
Then the knife twisted.
A cry escaped him as the pain surged. It knocked the air from his lungs, made his knees weak. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. And then, just as fast, the knife was pulled out. The pain didn’t stop — it got worse.
He pressed a hand against the wound, trying to hold himself together. When he pulled it away, his palm was soaked in blood.
“Blood…” he said quietly, as if saying it would make it make sense. His head started to spin.
He turned, forcing his eyes to focus. That’s when he saw her. The person who had stabbed him.
Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.
His body gave out and he collapsed. The ground hit harder than he expected, sending a shock through him. Lying there, he struggled to keep his eyes open.
She was human, just like him. That was what stuck with him. Not the pain, not the blood — the fact that she chose to do this.
And he couldn’t figure out why.
He knew he wouldn’t make it. There was no one to help, no one to stop the bleeding. He was alone.
There was no anger in him. Just confusion, sadness… and a kind of quiet fear. Not knowing what he meant to her anymore. Not knowing why this had to happen.
He looked up at her one last time. His voice barely came out, but she heard him.
“Did you just twist me out of your life?”
I’m in so much pain right now, but instead of surgery pain I wrote about past pain, with an analogy.