The foot steps echoed off the cold stone floor drawing closer to me. I waited with held breath and closed eyes, one hand held over my heart, as if to make sure it was still beating, to make sure I was still alive. The3 footsteps were loud, controlling, like he had nothing to fear, no need to silence the ringing proclamations that he had arrived, and I guess he really didn't have anything to be afraid of. He was a big strong man with a gun and a knife and a plan, and I was a small girl scrunched in a corner. I squeezed myself even farther into the dark cramped space, attempting to make myself as small as possible, so maybe the footsteps would pass me by. But I knew they wouldn't, I was just trying to give myself a small ounce of hope, attempting to calm myself in these final moments. A plan, I needed a plan. Frantic ideas raced through my head, but I couldn't clasp onto them and I knew it was hopeless. It was over. He would find me, and he would kill me. I knew it, I knew it but I didn't want to believe it. His footsteps drew closer and I could feel the vibrations off the floor. I started to shake. I offered up a million desperate prayers to anyone who would listen, all in the form of one word: help. He was getting close, so close I could almost smell him. A harsh, unpleasant scent that I couldn't quite place. Maybe I could dodge past him and push his gun out of the way, maybe he would miss. Even as I thought this I knew the absurdity of the thought, he never missed. I buried my head in my hands and rocked back and forth, feeling my breathing became eratic and harsh; my heart was beating so hard it hurt. My shirt was wet. Why was my shirt wet? I numbly realized it was tears, I hadn't even noticed I was crying. The footsteps stopped, and I could tell he was right in front of me, even though I didn't dare look up. I didn't want to stare into his face, didn't want to see the twisted evil in his eyes, and didn't want him to see the fear in mine. He stood there for a minute, or it could have been an hour, or a day, or a year, all I know was that it seemed like every single muscle, every single cell and molecule in my body had stopped. Like I had just ceased to exist for that period of time. He stretched it out. He was a master at his game; he knew how to squeeze as much terror as possible into every agonizingly long second. I didn't hear anything but I suddenly knew that the gun was on me and I knew I was going to die. There were no white lights, no angels, and no flashes of my too short life racing through my head, all there was was the fear, and the cold, and the gun. I held out for as long as I could, but in the end I had to look. He wouldn't end this nightmare until I did.

I dimly hoped, no not hoped, imagined someone bursting in, killing him, saving me. Picking me up and carrying me home. My dad would stop drinking, my mom would stop crying…..

But like I said, I didn't hope this would happen, I knew it wouldn't. I had no hope. That kind of thing only happened in stories, romantic adventures about heroes and princesses. My life, my story had been one tragic, tear jerking, gut wrenching event after another. I had always known it wouldn't have a happy ending.

I raised my head slowly, and meet the eyes of the man, and I couldn't help myself, I screamed.

I screamed the gut wrenching, throat tearing, heart shattering scream that was saved for horror movies, and I guess that fit. I guess that was fitting because that's what my life had become, a horror story.

I yelled out the emotion I had been holding in all night, all day, all year. Actually in those last few seconds I realized it was the scream I had been holding in all my life, always resting on my tongue, but being just barely kept at bay.

The man smiled and I knew that I had given him just what he wanted but now, really, huddled in a corner with a gun at my head, what did I have to worry about?

Actually the total non-concern for the world around me was kind of nice, unfortunately my pleasure was short lived due to circumstances beyond my control.

I didn't die brave and I didn't die strong and I didn't die fighting. I died huddled in a corner, screaming and crying. And somehow, I had never expected it to end any other way.