The box cutter hung casually in his hand.
A cheap plastic handle smeared with something sticky.
The kind you’d use to score drywall or slice through gaffer tape.

He stepped closer.

From behind, the blade kissed her throat and dragged.
Quick enough to open her up.

She didn’t feel pain right away.
Just heat.
Sudden and wrong.
For a moment, she thought someone had spilled hot chocolate down her Hello Kitty shirt.

Her hand slapped her open neck without thinking.
Like swatting a bug on the wall.
Splat.

When she pulled her hand back, it was slick with blood.
Thick and glossy.
Overripe red. With the pulpy sheen of a split watermelon left to rot in the sun.

She stared at it, confused.
Not scared.
Just shocked.
As if her own body had lied to her.

Then the pain came.
It throbbed. Deep and ugly.
Like her neck had been hollowed out with a rice paddle.
Tendons exposed.
Thin and pale as frayed yo-yo string.

She panicked and tried to run.
But her legs gave way.
She crumpled. Hard.

She tried to scream.
But her throat just made a wet, bubbling sound.

She choked. On blood.
It slipped past her lips, filling her nose with the coppery stench of a dead hamster's cage.

Her shaky hands curled against her throat.
Sliding on slick skin.
She pressed hard.
Helpless.
Frantic.
But the gushing refused to stop.

Every breath came ragged and harsh.
Wet and broken.
Something rattled in her chest.
Like a mop sweeping up broken glass.

A hum filled her ears.
Low. Constant.
Then pressure behind her eyes.

Her limbs felt distant.
Unreachable.
Her body peeling rapidly away from her mind.

A boot stepped into her field of view.
Scuffed.
Dulled with grime.
It inched closer, watching.

An oil-stain pattern on the toe cap looked like a face.
It smiled.

Her older sister’s voice came from the other room.
It sounded heavy. Warped.
As if she were underwater.
"You okay in there?"

Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, like burning tissue paper.

She tried to blink.

Then didn’t.