END

The only thing louder than the screams were the explosions. Shards of rock flew from every direction; one struck the man’s leg. The chaos was shrouded in a blanket of dust. Five feet away, part of a metal beam protruded from the unknown; the rest was hidden from sight.

The man looked back at what was left of his home. The top of the building was covered by the fog and dust. Huge gashes raked the front of the building. Chunks of the scaled roof lay scattered at his feet. A shingle sat near one of his running shoes. He bent down and picked it up, turning it over and examining it. His dusty hands grazed across the scratches and holes. He dropped it. It exploded upon contact with the cobblestone sidewalk and disappeared among the millions of other shattered roof tiles.

A loud crack snapped him out of his daze. They were closing in. He looked around frantically in the hopes that a path would open up for him, but the clouds that surrounded remained opaque. He shut his eyes and grabbed his head. Think! Think! Where should I go? He opened his eyes and was frustrated to still be looking at the wall. Violent shouts erupted from his left; he went right.

The man tripped over slabs of concrete. His eyes darted from side to side, frantically searching for enemies. His attention wandered and he nearly fell in a hole the size of a car. After crawling out of pits in the road and over downed buildings, he reached the end of the street. A bakery, which once served the most delicious and fragrant of pies, cakes, and pastries, had been reduced to rubble. An attractive young woman with long black hair owned the bakery; he had asked her out two days ago.

From behind him he could hear the approaching maelstrom of chaos, ready to destroy what was left of his city. There was nowhere to go. The man stopped and closed his eyes again. The map of the city popped into his head. Mentally he pushed his way through every route in the hopes of finding an exit. A salty breeze drifted into his nostrils. The Bridge! The map disappeared as he opened his eyes. With a renewed pace, he continued until he came to a small opening between two large buildings. He darted between the buildings and into the shadows.

Despite it only being the afternoon, the light had already begun to slip away from the city. Shadows grew longer, drawing more into their clutches. Soon it would be even harder to see. At least the fog had lifted.

Water trickled along the walls and collected into puddles, which the man plunged into frequently. The dampness of his shoes did not bother him; escape was all that mattered. The water washed away some of the dust and gravel off of his bare legs, but the soot stained his once-white shorts. The narrow path offered little room to navigate. Every bump sent the man into a jagged wall slick with water. He continued to shake off the pain and droplets, and rushed forward.

Ahead the alley opened into a much larger road. The street had once been lined with markets, but all he could see now were countless bodies. The smell was wretched. He had yet to reach the street, but already the he was breathing in the rot and gore. All the strength in his knees let go and he tumbled to the ground. With head in his hands, he moaned and prayed. Why was this happening? What had they ever done to deserve this? A tear slipped from his eye and streaked down his cheek and onto his muddied hand. The drop slid over the blood and mud gathered from his ten minute run. The tear acted as a magnifying glass as it reflected the stains. However, it wasn’t strong enough to wash any of it away.

What was the point? It was too late, no one would come. His home, his people, all of his life would be wiped from the face of the earth. The memories, the hopes, the dreams – there would be nothing left. He dragged his hands away from face, pulling away an unrecognizable red and brown substance on his face. He didn’t want to see the bodies anymore, so he looked down instead. A pool of grimy water sat below. A face looked back at him. The man thought the gore hanging from his ear and chin would be the most frightening part of the portrait, but he was wrong. What scared him most was the dead look in his eyes. Lifeless orbs of milk hung inside their proper places. In the middle of each lay a small olive. The unwavering, half opened eyes simply sat there. No movement. Shocked, he flinched and fell backwards. A sharp wheezing sound emitted from his throat. His hand clutched his heart. He looked ahead at the arms and legs which lay on top of one another. He looked back; the path seemed to stretch on forever. Tears streamed steadily down his face. With fists clenched, he punched himself off the ground. Half blind from the downpour, he bolted out of the alley.

Heads littered the balconies, doorways, stoops, sidewalks, and the road. Empty eyes stared at him. He looked away.

The road sloped up a small hill. With every step he came closer to the bridge. If they weren’t there, maybe he could cross anyways. He didn’t need to be saved. He only wished to get away.

Torn up porches and cracked windows lined his ascent. Everyone who hadn’t survived blocked his path. An arm with a hand missing two fingers sat along the curb. The stump was propped against the curb, giving the man the impression it was waving at him. He didn’t wave back.

The crest of the hill greeted him. He looked down. Rusted beams started ten feet away and stretched on for what seemed like miles. The sharp groan had transformed into an even higher-pitched wheezing. He arched forward and rested his hands on his knees. His vision was fading. The lines of the bridge began to blur and he struggled to stay standing. He swayed side to side like a small boat resting in the harbor on a windy day. He pushed himself upright, then collapsed.

A drum began to beat in his head. It grew louder and louder. The bridge fidgeted left and right as if it were experiencing a computer glitch. The sky shifted from grey to green and then back to grey again. The drumming stopped and was replaced by a loud electric hum. Suddenly, the red bridge and grey sky disappeared and an enormous room took its place. The room changed back to reality, but only for a few seconds. The room returned again and he see everything more clearly. The room was quite large and he could see red drapes on almost every wall. The bridge replaced everything for a brief moment but returned to the room. He was back in the room, lying on his stomach on a shiny silver table. All around him were circular tables neatly arranged with black tablecloths and glittering cutlery. Each table sat six men dressed in white and black tuxedos. The electric hum started up again, but none of the gentlemen had noticed.

The bridge returned. At the opposite end of the bridge stood rows of men carrying rifles and machine guns. They were walking in single file with their knees straight. Each step they took was in time with the men around them. The result was a low drum, which vibrated throughout the city. They were getting closer, nearing the man. He tried to get up but felt himself restricted at his torso. He squirmed on the concrete. Whatever was holding him down was too strong. He looked back at his body but found no rope or chains binding him, and yet he could not move.

A bright flash erupted from the sky. Grey was now replaced with red. The bridge began to fidget again and the hum buzzed loudly in his ear. He scrunched his face and clenched his jaws from the pain. “Please stop, please stop!” he moaned. The humming painfully continued, making each second feel like a minute. As quickly as it started, it stopped. The man opened his eyes and saw the round tables and red drapes again. A man stood on a stage a long black robe draped over his shoulders and covered everything below his neck. On his head he carried what looked like a white food carton on his head. The man with the white hat stood in front of a podium. Despite the podium not being very wide, it managed to hide his lower torso and his legs.

The hat on the man’s head started to shake oddly from side to side. The top half of the hat would shift to the left while the bottom half shifted to the right. They quickly rejoined and separated a few more times before the entire man’s body performed the same action. His nose and mouth jerked to opposite sides. The large adam’s apple contorted in a bizarre fashion. Because the man’s mouth never stopped moving, a tongue would appear to the left, below the nose, and appear to the right directly under his ear. Again no one but the man on the silver table noticed the ridiculous scene he was viewing. A large hum struck the man on the table and everything shifted once and was gone. In its place marched the stiff soldiers.

They had gotten much closer. In a minute they would be directly in front of him. Again he shook his body in the hopes of escape, but the invisible chain continued to hold tight. He pushed with his hands and kicked with his feet, but quickly grew tired. There was little energy left in his muscles. With one final burst he struck with every leg and foot. The effort was fruitless. He dropped to the ground. The soldiers were almost at the end of the bridge. Their dead eyes stared emptily ahead. They did not blink. They merely looked straight ahead. A hum echoed throughout the city, although softer than before. The man shut his eyes until the humming stopped, and then promptly opened them again.

He was back on the silver table. The man with the strange white hat was still on the stage. All the shouting had turned his face bright red like the drapes behind him. Whenever he stopped the crowd clapped furiously, but he heard nothing. A flash of light from behind him caught his attention. He strained to see what it was. A silver strip, similar to the color of the table, wrapped around him several times and then connected to either side of the table. The man also noticed that his clothes were clean. The blood and mud had been wiped off his shirt and pants.

He tried to move his arms but the straps held him tightly. Despite all his energy having been replenished, he was still unable to push himself up. Harder and harder he kicked and pushed, but the straps remained. With a sigh he dropped his head he collapsed. Slowly, he breathed in and out, relaxing his muscles. A low electric hum started up. Images raced through his mind. Pictures of shattered buildings, that seemed eerily familiar, jumped over his eyelids. The hum stopped and everything was quiet. He opened his eyes. A face was looking back at him.

A white mask covered every part of the man’s face but his eyes. They were huge. They appeared wide and stretched, but not out of fear. The man looked intrigued. His eyes darted to another part of his face and then would return to his eyes. For reasons he did not know, he was deathly afraid of the masked man.

He had been so focused on the man’s face that he had not seen where the man then had drawn the syringe. It had two holes at the base which the man’s fingers poked through. The man’s thumb rested on the hilt, waiting to push down and inject him with a purple liquid the syringes tube contained. A long clear needle protruded from tube and pointed at the man’s head. As the syringe creeped closer, the man’s eyes expanded until they were as big as tennis balls; he looked excited. The man on the table squirmed but still something was holding him in place. However, whatever was holding him down now was doing a much better than the silver straps. He could do nothing but open his mouth to scream as the syringe plunged between his eyes, but no sound slipped out. All he could hear was the echo of applause and the drumming of synchronized footsteps.