Beat up and cut out

Mark Viales

Part one - The Dream

by MARK VIALES
The old barracks grew from the ground in bulging and blistering shadows while the iron hands of the central clock tower spun dangerously out of control. Through the semi-circular archways dozens of soldiers without faces fled an unknown terror, carrying books where guns should be as pages tore into the air like scattered bullets shooting at wind.

The sky turned black before the heavens released fury down below, cascading unrelenting sheets of ice cold droplets with a sense of torrential vengeance. A bolt of white hot lightning broke the utter blackness, cleaving the night in parts, but just for the briefest of moments. And in that violent illumination, for some strange reason, stood what looked like the Chief Minister, only twice as large and with a forceful intent about him.

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