Statistically, someone is murdered every 60 seconds. Of course, that's a rough estimation; there isn't a reporter out there making sure someone is killed every minute, I'm sure, but you get the gist. (Although wouldn't that make a fantastic serial killer? It would be like Zodiac all over again!)
I remember once, I was watching a movie, and something horrible happened to the main character. He asked, "why me?" and his girlfriend replied, "why not you?" It seemed callous and harsh at first glance, because it was, but to be honest, I think about it a lot. Whenever something bad happens to me and I feel like saying Why Me, I think of that horrible Lifetime movie. It applies to the whole murder thing, because, and I don't say this to disturb you, victims probably thought they were as special as you do. Don't get me wrong, I think I'm hella special, but there is something kind of peaceful in accepting the fact that you are just as eligible for being killed as everyone else (although becoming a killer yourself is one sure fire way to bump yourself up, because as far as I know, no one was keen on trying to murder Ted Bundy).
Honestly, there isn't anything stopping you from being murdered. Or choking on asparagus, or a number of other strange ways to die before your time.
People usually take this two ways: they either freak out, or they get really morbid, trying to find the answer to life, and frankly, becoming a bit of a bore at parties. No one likes the person that responds to "yolo" with "go read Nietzsche, we are all going to die".
Personally, for someone who is writing an unfortunate blog post about the statistical probability of being cut up into little bits and being thrown into the Seine, I have an incredibly naïve outlook on life. My advice is that until you're actually being locked into a basement by a man who looks a lot like the killer off of The Lovely Bones, I really wouldn't sweat it. Acknowledge the philosophy of Why Not Me (trust me, it's very handy in bad situations), then just tell yourself that it can't possibly happen to you. I mean, don't walk through a red-light district in Bangladesh at 2AM, but if you hear a noise coming from downstairs, just tell yourself it's just the dog getting a late night snack. Because, like, it probably is, right?
So I guess the whole moral of the story is to reach for the moon (the moon in question being not killed, but can be applied to other situations), not worry about reaching for the moon, despite a lot of uneasy odds that you won't get to the moon, nor land among the stars. I don't know what the stars would be in this situation, because I'm puzzled as to what the runner up would be to not being murdered. Murdered gently, perhaps? Or choking on the asparagus, like I mentioned before?
My brain hurts, it's too late for this.
(If you don't want to get killed but you find yourself in a sticky situation, like the basement one, take some clues from old horror movies or thrillers; in Silence of the Lambs, Katherine was seriously the genius of that whole movie, not Hannibal.)
And remember, if you actually do get murdered, just remember this blog post, smile fondly, and maybe mention it to your murderer beforehand as some food for thought. I'm sure he would like some light reading material to wind down after a long day.
Make yourself at home, little killer person. Sip some tea.
And think about what you've done.
...But at least you made that reporter guy's job easier.