Title: Saints and sinners
by Alex from Northamptonshire | in writing, fiction
I can hear them. They're close now, too close. Right now I wish I was as far away from them as I could get. That I knew my parents and I was living happily together the life I could have had: higher education, university, a job. I snapped from my reverie, I'm here in this room and I must face them alone I must fight or die atop number one Canada square the world watching on glistening screens, news reporters gabbling a story, my story. It started alone and must end, alone The constant hum of chopper blades resonating around my head gave a gentle mesmerising tone to the world, my thoughts were interrupted by the doors of the roof bursting from their hinges; they lay shattered like the rest of my life. It was time to end this vividly real nightmare that was my life. The harsh winter wind tugged my hair and blew it into my face I silently wiped it from my eyes. Its deep black was a contrast to the pallid skin on my face cold-streaked and I stepped down to the roof below. It was time to end this. Then they came. Hordes of them, the red fist of the revolutionary emblazoned on their chests. No faces were visible through black hoodies; they almost blended with the night except for the fist. Not so long ago they had been my prison guards, my torturers. Tonight I was their executioner. I clenched my fists until my knuckles paled white. I set my jaw and focused my anger at the doors I felt a lightness in m chest, an uncontrollable strength. The doors shuddered under the pounding of feet the endless flood of 'fists' came at me from. I felt my power surge through me like a wave of strength my body became an angry, lost, hollow, a weapon. I lifted my head threw up my hands and released it all. A bright flash of light and a howling wind which seemed to flood from me in all directions, Silence. When I had let go this power destroyed to such an extent I didn't think possible. I had beaten the air from their lungs silencing them forever to the abyss of death. All that remained were corpses. And it was I who had killed them. The glass of the roof had shattered and been caught in a whirl of anger and studded their bodies as if to make sure they were dead. It was over. I made my way down to the ground floor to the hustle of the wharf news teams bustled and questioned but I ignored them feeling null. A huge monumental groan emanated from the building I stalked away from it. Then it fell.
Well having been told to come up with a short story I wrote this... tell me what you think
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