DesiPundit

The killer is leaning over me now, his hand is at my throat though I can’t feel it. He’s making sure. He steps back, satisfied, puts his gun away. I’m dead. For a moment I wonder how it is I can still see, then I realise that my eyes are still open and the scene before me is reflected in my pupils. I see the light blink above the door, though I don’t hear the familiar ‘pling’ of the elevator stopping. We’re at Parking Level. The killer tenses, afraid there might be someone waiting to get in, but there’s no one. He hurries away, out of sight. He doesn’t even bother to take a last look at me. The elevator door slides shut.

A chilling piece of macabre fiction from Falstaff.