Is this a good death scene? Please read, 15 year old author?

I was just looking for a little feedback on something I wrote. I wanted to know if it actually pulls you in/has emotion. Thanks!

In those last few pain free moments, I took in everything about the man. The denim jacket he was wearing over a black hoodie. The thick leather gloves that covered his hands. The black combat boots on his feet. And lastly, the large hunting knife he had just pulled out from his jeans.

There was a lot of crying. And a lot of pleading. Any shred of bravery I had left dissipated and I made no attempt to control the sobs coming out of my mouth as I begged for my life. It seemed that the only two words my mind could think of were “please” and “don’t”. So I repeated the two syllables in various patterns as the man brought the blade down slowly, tracing it lightly across the side of my face, down onto my neck. I started to sob harder when he put one of his gloved hands over my mouth. I could taste the sour leather treatment he had used on them and despite my situation, gagged.

Even though my mouth was covered, the scream of pain still rang out in the house when his knife ripped through my chest the first time. My back arched, pushing my body up against his. Warm tears spilled out from my eyes as blood began pouring from the fresh wound. My arms struggled frantically at my sides, wanting to be able to push away the pain. Sobs hitched in my throat as I watched the knife come down again.

Each stab seemed to hurt a little less than the one before it. Eventually, my cries of pain and fear started to fade into small whimpers and occasionally, a weak sob shook my bleeding body. He stopped driving the knife into my chest after countless stabs. Again, we were locked in a staring contest. His eyes were still gleaming, though I could tell it was with malice now. If my eyes had any gleam by then, it was surely fading quickly.

My breaths started coming out in small gasps as the man got up off of me. His eyes remained locked on mine even as he slowly backed away. Then, he winked before turning around and walking calmly out of the house.

Lying there on my kitchen floor, I knew I was going to die. There was no escaping the fact. Even if paramedics had rushed in right then, I was still a goner. I was surprised at how much blood I really had in my body, as it was now pooled out around me in a large puddle.

Another wave of tears hit me when I realized that I was dying alone. I wasn’t necessarily scared of what would happen after death; I was a Christian and figured something good was waiting for me when I passed on. But I didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to. Or tell my regrets. I was by myself at the most terrifying last moments of my life. There was no one there to tell me that the pain would stop soon, and that it would be over in a bit.

I don’t know why, but I was fighting to hang on. Every time my eyes started to flutter shut, I forced them back open and sucked in another breath. Even so, the pain started to fade, as well as my vision. The lights above me became dimmer, blurrier, and I could hear my heart beat in my ears. It was getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open and they began to shut for the last time.

The pounding of my heart was fading. My breaths got shallower and my skin became colder. I was on the brink of death when a noise burst into the peacefulness. The front door had opened. My eyes cracked open the tiniest bit, but my vision had already gone. Relief flooded my body as a hand took my limp, blood stained one. It didn’t matter who it was, or why they were there. I wasn't dying alone. So, I gave up and let myself slip away.