As his his hands tightened around my neck, unable to breathe, I knew I about to die.

I clawed desperately at his gloved hands, hoping for just a breath, a chance at life.

Choked to death by Plubby the Clown; I couldn’t accept that.

As my vision began to blur, I thought, if Plubby wants to kill me, he’ll have to fight me first.

Plubby was close enough that I could feel his putrid breath on my face, his large round nose blocking my vision. Without hesitation, my hands shot out blindly towards his neck, exposed above the frills of his costume. I began to choke Plubby back.

Plubby gagged, and I held on tighter, the two of us locked in a dual-choking battle.

I was weak, disoriented - there was no way I could have won. But at least my hands would leave bruises on his skin; a reminder in the coming weeks of who I was, that I refused to back down. A reminder to Plubby that although I’m dead, I went down with a fight.

And to Plubby, I’ll be waiting in hell to finish the job.