[ WP ] One day , in High School , you unintentionally get into a fight and are stabbed in the process . As you lie dying on the floor with everyone around you , you notice that your hands and face are beginning to glow a fiery yellow . You seem to be `` regenerating . ''

It felt like I had been dropped into a bath of warm milk. Pain ceased and aches stopped, bones healed and joints popped. A warm light accompanied the bath, glowing bright and enveloping me, blocking fellow students surrounding me from view. Almost as quickly as it started, the light faded and I was laying still on the ground. It was n't very long before I noticed the faces around me, filled with concern, fear, confusion and a varied array of emotions. The one face that truly caught my attention was Charley's. He had just finished returning the switchblade I got him for his birthday last year by placing it in between two of my ribs. 
 
 He is still in shock while I slowly rise to my feet, before remembering what Charlie had re-gifted was still protruding from my side. I grabbed the knife with my right hand, jerking quickly and almost effortlessly. The blade comes out completely clean: no blood. I touch where a knife wound should have been with my other hand, but instead I find scar tissue and slight hole that I can feel is healing already. Stumbling and slowly, I make my way towards a still stunned Charley. I may feel relaxed and brand new right now, but I was almost ready to pass out from exhaustion. 
 
 Charley started muttering something indecipherable as I still slowly approached him. All I heard was the occasional word like `` what'' and `` how''. He knew what was coming next, he did n't try to stop it, hell, even some still watching in awe probably knew what was coming. still none attempted to intervene, they all stood silent and still, like a God watching its creation. 
 
 I grab Charley by the back of the head and bring his ear close to my mouth. `` You *really* thought you were the only one, huh?''. Before he responds to my question, a swift strike and the knife is planted in his chest. He was on the ground in a second, holding the gift with both hands and staring up at me. No flash of light, no warm milk bath, no popping joints or aches that stop: just imminent death. The wound was too fatal to heal, he and I both knew it. He stared up at me with those blue, haunting eyes before a final small flash of orange light ignited his corneas, signaling his passing. 
 
 
 

