Death

A crack like a whip shoots through the room. The bullet of sound bounces from wall to wall, piercing eardrums in its wake. Screams and cries fill the air as the sound comes again. This time it’s more aggressive, and much, much louder. I throw my hands over my head to shield myself and a third crack resonates from somewhere very, very close to me. The noise resembles what it would sound like to jab a dagger into a persons’ throat. Bloodcurdling screams surround me, mixed with the echoing of the mysterious noise.
Then I see it. Tall, black, and wispy like a cloud of smoke. It races toward me, bringing an unearthly chill. A filthy smell surges up my nostrils, practically knocking me out. The demon is worse up close. Its face is a thin, cracked skeleton with bits of moldy flesh hanging here and there. The monster’s eye sockets are hollow, and filled with a black ink-like liquid that smells like blood. Its breath sends a shiver up my spine as the creature opens its long, narrow, horrifying mouth. The whip-like noise comes faster than lightning. I was expecting it, but I was nowhere near ready for it’s deafening pierce.
A soft hum fills my ears, like a million bees are swarming around my head. My throat closes so quickly it could be and Olympic sprinter, and I gasp for air. I feel my eyes roll into the back of my head, agonizingly painful. My hands and feet go numb and everything is black. There is no sight, no sound, and no touch.
I’m as good as dead. In fact, I think I am dead. I must be dead, yet I can’t be. Can dead people still have thoughts? They can’t, right? So I must be ali–