Time seemed to pause, it felt as if a second was an hour, as he could only stare at those cold black eyes. His hand outstretched, as if he was trying to grasp at something; but nothing was there.
He opened his mouth to shout, but nothing came out. He closed his eye's tight, those eyes, that face, they were forever burned on the back of his eyelids.
His breath grew rapidly, his chest tightening with every breath he took.
Realization dawned on him, he could feel the pinpricks of tears build up behind his tightly shut eyes. The feeling was all too real, the feeling of your stomach dropping as your about to fall down; it felt as if your on a ride and it drops.
Opening his eyes he saw the clear sky, his tears floating above his face. He was falling, falling to nothing but death.
He cried out, his throat raw and dry from the wind, he cried out. His cries were filled with defeat, betrayal, hurt, and sadness. He cried out, cried out for anybody to save him; to protect him.
With a sickening thud, he landed on hundred of bunched up bodies. Not even registering the bone-breaking pain he screamed his throat raw, for all he could feel was the hundred of hands touching, no ripping, him apart.
With nothing to do he closed his eyes, wishing for death as he continued to scream. With one last shout he screamed, before death overcame him. The hundred of hands not retreating from his dead body.