I don’t like Saturday evenings. Its been raining for the last three days. Gloomy and damp. I see no sign of John. His phone is switched off. Dark clouds muster thunder, light flashes in the verandah. The sofa is comfortable and the coffee is just right. Covered in my woolen blanket, there is nothing more a girl could ask for. Another bolt of thunder, and the lights go out. The whole house is lit with darkness. I hear the falling of a glass. It sounded like a wine bottle fell down. I’m scared now. There were no wine bottles in the dining table. Somebody is in the kitchen. I hurry to my bedroom and get my flashlight and my brother’s hockey stick. I walk into the kitchen without making any noise, darkness shrouding me. I switch on the torch, and I move it around. Nothing. No one. Shards of broken glass lie down on the floor. I feel a cold grip of hands around my neck from behind. Gloved fingers. I can’t turn around, the hands are too strong. Choking me, the hockey stick slithers from my hand. My body is turning numb, my head is turning blue. My vision is blurring. A loud noise and surge of air and I fall down, unconscious. I’m sitting in the verandah drinking tea, and I hear a glass drop. Concussion of the five minute past hits my like a freight train. I was dying. I sit there, shocked. I’m too dazed to move. What is happening? I stagger to stand up. Life is giving me one more chance. I pick up my mobile and call the police. I yell to my neighbors, nobody is at home, it’s a Saturday evening for god’s sake. I take the flash light and the hockey stick. I go to the back door of the house which connects directly to the kitchen. The lock on the door has been broken. This how he came in, I say to myself. I hide behind the wall near the kitchen door. I see myself coming in from the living room to the kitchen holding out a torch. This is not happening. This is a dream, it was not. I see myself coming closer into the kitchen. She enters the kitchen and he grabs hold of her from behind and starts choking her. Oh my god, It’s John. He has black gloves on. I’m trying to scream, trying to yell at him to stop but I’m too shocked, no sound comes from my throat. I come out from hiding, I lash the hockey stick at his head and I (past me) fall down from his release, unconscious. I’m looking at John and John is staring back at me in utter disbelief in his pool of blood. I’m trembling now, I take the hockey bat and aim for his head for one more time. He pulls my right foot and I collapse on the bloody floor. He takes a knife and pierces through my heart. Blood is coming out from my mouth. I can’t feel my legs anymore. My vision is going blurry. I see a wine bottle near the waste basket. I try my best to grab it, my chest aches in utter pain. My left hand has lost its sense. I take the bottle and smash it to the corner of the table, I pierce the broken bottle with all my almost dead body’s might to John’s heart. He cries in my pain. I join the hysteria. Another bolt of thunder, and the lights go out. The whole house is lit with darkness. I hear the falling of a glass. It sounds like a wine bottle fell down. I place the coffee cup in the table. There were no wine bottles in the dining table. Somebody is in the kitchen. I’m scared now.