I heard the footsteps behind me, felt his hands grab me, and the sickening truth that I was about to die sent panic throughout my entire body. I felt the cool dagger blade pressed against my throat. Time slows down as it it's holding its breath to see what's going to happen.

"You have ten seconds to live,"

The man's voice whispers in my left ear. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. It's interesting how slow ten seconds can go, yet how fast they can pass.

Ten. I struggle with my attacker slightly until I feel hm bury the blade deeper in to my throat, causing me to stop moving and start thinking.

Nine. I send up a prayer to the Heavens that he lets me go. I won't say anything to anyone about the attack if he just lets me go. I promise not to take walks late at night by myself anymore.

Eight. I think about my parents, what are they going to do? I'm their only child, what will this do to them? Will it destroy them? I hope that the rest of the family can help them as much as possible.

Seven. What about my best friend? How will she gt through this? She always said that if I died she'd follow close behind. I guess that this will kill her, too. I'm the one dying physcially, she'll be the one that will die emotionally. What a painfully way to go.

Six. My vision is starting to blur. I can see the lights that the streetlights are casting, but they're fading fast. My hearing slowly fading away, the sound of the car horns from the street two alleys over are becoming faint.

Five. Yell for help, stupid. No. If I yell, my death will be quicker. It's almost a guarantee he'd slit my throat before my time is up.

Four. This is all a dream. Yes, that's all it is. Death is toying with me and when I open my eyes, I'll be awake. I move my right hand to pinch my left arm. 

Three. That didn't work, did it? Nope, of course not. Blade still on my throat? Check. Creepy stalker attacker that reeks of alcohol? Check.

Two. Time is running out. I wonder what Heaven is like. Or will I not make it to Heaven because of that candy bar I stole from my teacher in first grade?

One. I feel tears in my eyes and beg for them not to fall. Don't let me die weakly. Please, keep it together. Don't show weakness. Stiffen that upper lip. Staighten up little solider.

Zero. The blade moves in a horizontal line across my throat. I cumple to the ground in a bloody heap. I'll never forget those empty, cold, gray eyes of Depression staring down at me.

The last thing I think is,

"Ten seconds to die."