Anarchy

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Anarchy: a short story of rebellion.

My hand quivers, the metallic gun burning my fingers; the sensation of power tingles through my veins and I breathe in, allowing for the fresh air to replenish my lungs, soothing their jagged thoughts that slice at my own. Pressing my back against the wall, I peer around the edge, as my heart hammers against my chest, fighting for freedom, much like those part of the rebellion crave.

        Snowflakes escape the clouds from above, twirling in mid fall as they decorate the ground beneath them, merging together to form a blanket of snow, but even that isn't thick enough to cover up the horror unfolding around me. Crimson blood trickles from wounds of the fallen, the bright colour juxtaposing the purity that the snow once possessed and among the bodies lie the souls of the fighters, whose innocence has been snatched, torn away from them in a blink of an eye. The sound of gunshots continues to swarm through the air, surging through my ears and despite my best efforts to block out the noises, my mind refuses to relieve myself of reality in fear that it could cost me my life.

                The frantic shrieks of innocent civilians, desperate to seize the attention of those who are listening, is the only thing keeping me from plunging into the jaws of death, as they’re slaughtered amongst the ruins of their perfect society that took years to craft, yet seconds to destroy. The last sparks of decency that still flicker inside of me, urge me to do the right thing, but my body refuses to cooperate with me; still in denial of my true feelings and loyal to those behind everything. They attempted to alter my genes to ensure that I would ignore the human emotions that nag at my brain, clawing at the mental block that blurs my true nature, all to create the perfect killer, but every human has its faulty and the wall that has concealed my void of emotions over the years has become weaker with each attack the rebels launch. And now it’s starting to crumble.

                Shrinking back into the darkness, my fingers detangle the knots that cling to my dark hair, entwined with the cluster of snowflakes that cake the ends of each strand and melt away at my touch. My fingers lock around the gun and my ears twitch, listening to the delicate sound of the last bullet clanging against the walls of its cage, that’s barely heard in the mess of echoing crashes erupting from within the heart of the chaos. You’ve got one bullet left. One choice. One chance. Once you kill him, you’re done. The invading thought is planted in my mind by them, the interception swift, but not unnoticed and the mental wall heals itself in a split second, sorting through the thoughts of remorse that’ll distract me from my job.

                I arch my back against the wall, peering through the thick curtain of hair that flashes across my hazel stained eyes and the identity of the rogue rebel is confirmed as soon as he catches in the corner of my vision. His arm is tightened around another rebel – one of our own and I watch as the light dies in his eyes, his skin fading away to form muddle of pale white. I shudder in disgust, my gaze returning to the rogue, as a spark of recognition crosses my mind for a split second, drawing out a memory from the past, but it vanishes before I can unfold it and is replaced with a plan that begins its formation in its place. With a violent shake of my head, my mind empties, each thought dispersing and as my former harsh nature returns, I click the gun into place, the crisp noise like music to my ears.

                Raising my head, my arm brushes across the wall as my foot crunches into the snow, sinking into the soft material that splatters the ground amongst the blood and I raise the gun, my eyes locking with the rebel’s sparkling green ones that absorb the thin bead of sunlight escaping from the clouds. They churn with fear, anxiety apparent in his posture and then he blinks to conceal his emotions, as his lips stretch out to form a smile, causing a ripple of dimples to erupt from the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head, his dark auburn curls bouncing over his ears and then he shrugs as if he knows it’s over – as though he doesn’t regret anything he’s done.