Drip

Continued from Part 1

The air was cold; snow falling from the heavens like tears down upon our sins. A mighty gust takes from us the silence as we huddle up close to keep from being frozen. All around the holy city lies in ruins - a result of our folly.

It had been three days since everything happened. I was pushed into action, taking down what we thought were soldiers who were sent to take us back. Seven days before that happened we were prisoners sentenced to death for the assassination of the president - pawns sacrificed for the idealism of extremists playing a deadly game of chess where only one piece will eventually remain.

The president's death drove the city into madness, letting us see who were really are. The army mobilized all the soldiers who didn't revolt in an attempt to recapture status quo. They were up against the rebellion who now had the support of more than half of the military who had joined their cause in the promise of a better tomorrow.

I couldn't understand the thoughts going through in my head when the first bullet tore through the air and cracked the wall behind me, or when the next barrage took the life of my cellmate. It was all messed up like the state of things.

He told me he was going to get home to his children and explain to his family how he was set up; we all had our stories, but none of them believed us. They were angry and wanted someone to blame. Anyone who could be hung to make the whole world feel better, even if we were innocent - taken off the strings of petty crime we were sentenced for and thrown into the big slammer for killing the president.

But it happened, and here we are.

And in the falling snow, a single plywood sign stood erect along the cement walkway facing the picket fence. The grass were trodden upon by invaders, the door damaged as gun-wielding bodies threw it open. Inside the house sat the three.

We were quiet in our conquered pill box among bodies of the soldiers sent to recapture us. We had this place to hide for the time being, and there was food at the back to last a week. Once we make it out of the city we'll tell the world what really happened.

No one said a word or dared to move. The blood had dried on the old wooden floor. And on the brick walls. And on the leather sofa. And on the faces of the children lying motionless. All around us were sounds of explosions and gunfire, but here we can only hear the howling wind.

Welcome to the Sunshine Home for the Less Fortunate - just one of the many places we will attack on our way to freedom.

-End of Part 2-