The knife was cold, jarring. Like a shock it entered me, entered my very flesh, its invading cold stealing my breath. My weak legs disappeared, buckling underneath me; my vision blurred as the colors of the world merged into an unimpressive beige. Vaguely, I was clutching at my side, I felt the blood running over my hand in warm pulses. Slowly, the beige grew darker and darker until it all turned to black, and as I died, their fading laughter was all I heard.
Short: Laughter
Tale Told 