You stab me with a knife.
Is the blood from the wound or from my mouth?
Do you want me to speak or do you want me to die?
Is there something worth killing me for?
What do you gain?
You laugh.
Is that joy, or is it fear?
Do you like it when I'm hurting?
Or are you just sadistic?
Is this a sound I'm really hearing?
What do you gain?
I reach out a hand.
Will you take it?
Does it reach my target?
Will you stop me, even in my dying moments?
Are you cruel till the very end?
What do you gain?
I pull out the knife.
Is the blood really mine?
Why is it so red, why does it drip?
Am I someone who stands in your way?
Can you look at me while I am thinking?
What do you gain?
You back away.
Are you afraid of me now?
Do you think I will return the favour now that it's in my hands?
Will the knife really run through you?
Will you really die?
What do I gain?
You trip over yourself.
What is that you are saying?
Why can't I hear a word?
Why would I kill you when I'm dying?
Am I that cruel?
What do I gain?
I drop the knife.
Why does it hurt so much?
Am I dying now?
Does this piercing, hot pain really exist?
Is it just a nightmare that will pass?
What do I gain?
I die.
Does falling off a cliff feel the same?
Is life really so insignificant?
Is that really you – this small, pale face staring at me?
Why is this happening?
What do you gain?
