You wake up in a dark room. There is a horrible odor coming from what seems like a vent. You try to walk closer to the vent to see if there is any light or noise or way to escape this oversize coffin. You realize you are tied to a chair. Rope burns feel like they are on fire, covering your arms, legs and torso. You scoot your chair over to the vent, for it is not nailed down. You lean your head down to get a good look, but the smell! Oh, the smell! Your nose is burning, eyes watering, brain numbing, but you are curious. Curious and scared.

Who is your captor? Surely you did not get there on your own. You remember that you have a Swiss army knife in your back pocket. Slowly, you reach down to find the familiar steel item. It smells like your dad. That slight peppermint smell that grew stronger around Christmas. That is, until one Christmas ago. That drive-by shooting wasn't your fault, was it? You were mad at him. Your fury told him to leave the house, not you. Too bad he never came back. The knife slips out of your hand as it becomes limp with sadness.

You try to grab it, but it just cuts your hand. The sight of your own blood makes you pass out right on the spot. When you come to, you see a large man in a black cloak standing over you. He has an axe. A shiny axe. The last axe you ever see. He brings it up past his head and brings it down swiftly. The last sight you ever see.