Prophecy Ending

His mind played like a blizzard most of the time. Images rushing by him, one by one, trying to dissemble them, usually disasters but there was the rare occasion a happy thought crossed his mind.

He’d known the four grey walls for far too long. No window, no view of the outside, just the long bright light above him to give the aspect of sunlight and the light greyed walls.

Also in the room sat a desk, a comfortable bed, he wasn’t being treated as a savage, and a few books they’d bring in a rotation to keep him mildly entertained.

On the desk was a writing pad where he’d have to note down every visual image that happened. Every fleeting memory crossing his mind, or what felt like a memory of the moment, as if he was really there feeling it.

The latest was hot, fire burning all around. It was so clear it was as if it was in the room with him, but he didn’t panic, it played out almost so real that he’d grown used to it. Now not knowing what was real and what wasn’t.

As the vision of the room burning, he could hear people’s screams, loud blasts one by one and a few key hints of the location, London, Soho to be more specific. Finally he saw a black van and someone being thrown into the back before it drives away. Once it ended he noted it down, his prophetic telling like he’d done a thousand times before.

He slid it under the door and could hear it being whisked away in no time and someone running off down the corridor. Now he was left to his real thoughts, but he didn’t even know if those where even his anymore.

There was some noises outside, thuds here and there and gasps, but it all happened too quickly. A knock at the steel door which blocked him from the outside world.

He sat, expecting a man in a suit to walk in, usually a gun holstered to question his visions, but this time it was a young woman, not much older than him. Holding a gun with the odd splatter of blood across her face.

She held a hand out, extending him to the outside, the real world and without hesitation he grabbed it and she pulled him into the corridor, leaving a flickering flame behind her.

The same grey drabbed the walls in gloss, again the blood splatter of a dark red here and there with three men spaced out, their bodies heaped on the ground.

The fire started to rage on so they had to be quick. It chased then down the corridors, consuming the bodies she’d left behind.

The noise of more men could be heard and the woman, her blond hair whipping back and fourth as she looked down either side of the corridor, still clenching his hand, pulling out a gun with the other and shooting each person in sight with precision.

She pulled him faster, leading into a run through the maze of walls. He had no idea where they were going, now up some stairs, three more shots fired here and there, bodies dropping everywhere.

He’d never forget the moment he could smell the fresh air, it hit him straight away as they burst through some double doors and onto a noisy street. He was cathartic, feeling every emotion of freedom in his body.

Falling to his knees, he looked around seeing the streets of London, Soho and behind them from the doors they came it exploded with fire.

Out of nowhere a black van pulled in to the chaos and the woman grabbed him, whispering in a Russian accent “You’re ours now” before pushing him into the back of the van where another two men sat ready for him.

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