The beginning of this memory isn't calm or clear. It starts mid-fight. A tired looking man (https://i.imgur.com/hHvfQTb.jpg) holding a hunting knife is grabbing your hair, pulling you back towards him. This isn't the first noticeable thing about this memory; that would be the fear. It permeates into everything. Your heart is pounding as you kick and scratch and fight against him, even as he holds onto you. He hasn't injured you yet, but you're injured all the same. There's a sharp pain in your shoulder and your hand, fresh wounds that have already been bandaged. You might notice the lack of something, too - one of your arms is missing from the elbow down, though the lack of pain indicates that it's not a recent injury.

"I didn't have--" Your frenzied response is given to a remark he made before this memory begins, but whatever the meaning is, you feel guilty as you say it. That guilt is forgotten quickly, though, because as he pulls you back by your hair and towards him, he brings an arm around your throat. Your focus shifts from fighting him off to trying to pry his arm off your neck, because you can't breathe like this. The effort is useless. It does seem to anger him, though.

He takes the knife in his free hand and drives the blade into the exact spot where your shoulder is already injured, and you give a voiceless cry of agony, his arm still around your throat. He doesn't stop there, though, even as pained tears leak out of your eyes. He drags the blade across your collarbone, making a deep, clean cut across your chest. You stop kicking, stop struggling, stop - everything. He told you he would hurt you if you fought back. You just want this to stop. You're terrified and you want to live, but you're tired, and you don't have a chance. Maybe you never--

Your stillness prompts him to drop his arm just long enough that he can drag the knife out of your chest and aim it towards your throat, but before it plunges in, the memory ends abruptly.