REBEL

Prologue

June 10, 1989.

"CEASE FIRE!!"

In the mire of smoke, confusion and shouts induced by gun shots, it was like slow motion, and the tunnel vision was dragging at his consciousness, making him lose touch of reality. His breath was the only thing he could hear in the hullabaloo. Every other human were moving, either running for dear life, or fighting against dear life, except him. He stood, rooted in the spot, his hands paralyzed, his rifle hanging limply from the hand that held it.

He tried to speak again but his throat constricted and his vocal cords became paralyzed after the energy he'd used to yell. Everything was going wrong, and as if on cue, the walls of his stomach collided with a nauseating clench that sent him bowling over and landing on his knees. He realized almost immediately that it wasn't his stomach that was begging to regurgitate its contents, it was instead, the searing pain of a projectile that had been fired from a gun that had pierced his skin.

He dodged to the side just as another bullet flew past him and the sharp movement made the bullet pain in his stomach shoot up his body like an electric shock, making him groan in agony. He crawled on the floor, trying to propel himself to safety. Unconsciousness beckoned to him, lulling him into a sweet escape into the land of numbness but he fought it against it. He squeezed his eyes to hinder the flow of sweat into his eyes, and opening it again took great effort.

Cops were running around, firing their guns back at the rebels that were firing at them, trying to bring order and trying to defend themselves at the same time, but he wanted to tell them to stop. Let the rebels shoot and kill them all, he didn't care. Just don't fire back! You could hurt innocent citizens! Seize fire!

Someone ran towards him. "Sir, You've been hit!"

The speaker himself was in no shape to show any concern for another, albeit his superior. He looked like he'd also been hit on the arm but was hanging on.

"Officer Goodwill tell them to –"

Goodwill crouched low to take his arm and hurl him out of danger as he struggled to speak.

"Sir don't exert yourself, reinforcement will be here very soon."

An ear-splitting scream erupted from just beyond them and his junior gave him a look, one that was akin to that of terror.

"Go! Go help them. Save them!" He was losing the struggle to speak because he was losing blood and the mutilating pain was sapping his strength. Goodwill on the other hand who was one of the few officers that was still standing and alive, looked reluctant to leave his superior but he did when the blood curling screams and cries came again. Soon, it was followed by silence and silence meant only one thing - they were dead.

No!

He placed one arm above his head on the floor and dragged himself forward. He did the same with his second hand, propelling himself forward, albeit at a snail's pace but was movement nonetheless. He had to get to his car, he had to get his radio and call for more reinforcement. He needed help. Couldn't someone hear him? Reinforcement should be here by now!

The pain was crippling but he couldn't stop. He had to move on, he had to. Giving up was not an option, not today at least. He stopped to catch his ragged breaths which were as loud as a Volkswagen engine. Sweat trickled down his back and soaked his uniform. He looked to his side, trying to find someone that could help and instantly regretted it.

It was a child, a boy and he was lying lifeless, gunshot wound evident on his forehead. His blood was pooling on the floor and his eyes were wide open, frozen in an expression of shock and horror. That killed him, made him want to shoot himself in the head and end his pathetic excuse of a life, but misery and anguish wasn't done with him yet, no, it was just getting started, because when he raised his head, there were more of them - women and children, all scattered around the square, lifeless and gruesomely murdered.

That did it. He raised his head and wept bitterly. Oh God, end my life! End it now! Send brimstone and fire on me!

On a second thought, why was he even wasting his breath praying to God? No self-sacrificing and gracious God would have mercy on a monster who had taken the lives of the innocent ones He created. God wouldn't have mercy on his poor soul and help him escape this hell. No, death was too good of a punishment for him. He deserved worse, he deserved to exit his personal hell in the most hideous of ways.

His vision became blurry and the whole world swam before him. He was getting lulled in by unconsciousness but he fought it, he needed to stay awake, he needed to save these people, there was still hope, wasn't there? So why was it so quiet? He had been too obsessed with self-loathing to notice that it had gone quiet, and now that it finally has, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Silence meant just one thing. They couldn't be gone! Surely not – not all of them.

Help! His mind screamed. Somebody help! Someone please.

Help.

Night fell.

~

A/N:

Thank you so much for reading! Please vote for this chapter, comment your thoughts, add to your library and reading lists and share :)