Backstabber

Very short story.

I stand there waiting for you. You try your best to be quite so that I won’t hear you coming. But I do, I hear your heavy footsteps. I turn my head slightly around and you stop dead standing there. I see the dagger you hold to my back. Do I run and be a coward? Or do I stand my ground? There is fear in my chest. Not the fear of you stabbing my back. No, not that, but the fear of losing a friend. You've been there for me when I was sad, happy, or even angry. I told you my deepest darkest secrets. Ones that I could never share with anyone. So, there you are, your face sad, and shocked, tears running down your cheeks. Do you dare to hurt me? Do you think that hurting me would do anything? You stare into my eyes as I turn around to make you face my chest. I look down at the ground. The road that I walk on. The road that I would be stabbed in the back on. No, that's not what I would want. I'd rather be stabbed in the chest. Your one of the things that is in my way, the obstical that I must face. I don't run. I stand my ground. Ready for the impact of the dagger to pierce me in the heart. I scream at my stabber, my friend, "If you’re going to stab me. Stab me in the chest not the back!" My stabber couldn't do it. My friend couldn't hurt me. My friend drops the dagger and runs away. I pick up the dagger and turned it over. It was in-scripted with a name. So, if you’re going to try and stab me. Next time you'll think. Do I dare stab her in the back or the chest?

Author's Note

This is just a short story.