His hair was wet, just like the rest of his shivering, sweltering body even in the coldest of weathers. He didn’t know what else to do, he was running mad. He shouted loud again and hit the bars hard.‘Prisoner Number 32. If you make any noise again! you will be taken to the hole!’, the man from the loudspeaker shouted but Barry wasn’t going to listen. Michael! Michael! He wailed in sorrow.Barry didn’t want to imagine that it was real. It mustn’t be, it mustn’t be, his mind roared. This guy whom he had laughed with, ran to school with, shared shoes with, shared clothes with, shared a room with, suffered with. He screamed again, thunderously and he kept hitting the metal bars until his knuckles started to bleed.His eyes had turned to a sponge dispensing water all over his face. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it out of this, ever. No! No! Not Michael! And then he yelled again, tears blowing out of his eyes, he wasn’t going to stop.Michael had done nothing wrong his whole life! T

The Quppis’ ground was a whole kingdom of its own, spanning a hundred kilometres in the centre of cliffs and tall, impassable mountain and dense, endless plantations making it well safeguarded. Out in the Meadow Hills – the exterior surroundings of their barracks – were thousands of rangers moving around, so that no one would come close to discovering where the Quppis’ domain was.The whole land area included two parts: The Spheres and The Circus divided completely by a tall, great wall known as the Partition. The Spheres contained eight giant spherical geodesic domes that housed different phalanxes of their army. Behind them was a glassy dark tower with a pointed peak, no one lived there but Sawer himself. About thirty kilometres from there was The Partition and after that was The Circus was a concoction of funny-looking buildings, countless numbers of them in different shapes and heights. There was an onion-shaped building, a pyramidal-shaped monument, a plank house with a doll as i

The next morning set them up to another horrible day ahead, horrible by default. The men called all of them out and counted them, looking pleased and satisfied with the grave looks on the faces of the prisoners. The daily count put them at eighty-four, thanks to the elimination. The new internees seemed to be getting on well.‘Tristan Klyce?’, one of the wardens called with a diffident face. ‘Follow me’Tristan sighed, ready to cope with another morose face of Samantha and have to repeat the words he had said the last time in a more explicit way.He reached the calling room and there were other prisoners in there, resting their head against the soundproof walls listening to the wobbly, comely voices of their loved ones through the telephones. He was led to Samantha in the last booth line where she always was. Only that this time, he wasn’t going to cope with only the face of Samantha, there was another face, another severely cute face, a smaller face.‘Oh My God!’, Tristan’s mouth ope

The sound from the TV shrieked in the ears of the old man, the smoke from the fireplace which he was sitting along stinging his eyes, trying as much as possible to focus on the special weekly report that the Gollogher Press was about to give. He hoped that… really, what he hoped for wasn’t important, the fact that he hoped was ridiculous, in it of itself. In anyways, he really believed that the new special weekly report was going to be better than the one of the previous weeks but the first words proved him wrong.‘Dexter Islands IS ON FIRE!’, Reporter Shelley started and his face displayed the exact terror of those first words. ‘And the terrorists who have been speculated by a Dexter Call journalist to have a new name of The Blazing Empire are having an unbroken run throughout the nation’‘On Sunday, the twenty-second of April, the nation recorded a death toll of hundred thousand people which was the highest mortality rate that Dexter have witnessed in its history but as the week got

The doors of the cellhouse shrieked open, it was rare to have the wardens come in at such an hour. The lights were out and the sound of boots ensued through the silence. More bizarrely, it was just one man with a little torch with a tiny ray of light that did little justice to the overpowering darkness. It was only a few minutes after they were in the relaxing room and rarely any of them had slept off. They all watched breathlessly straining their eyes to see what the man was up to. The warden walked slowly, taking one step and then stopping in front of each ward. He looked into each of the cells flashing his light at the person occupying them.They reached the cell number forty-six and flashed its light at Barry. As he pointed it at him, Barry was able to give one glimpse at the warden. He had a balaclava over his face and although he didn’t have any clubs, he didn’t look harmless at all. He wasn’t like the usual prison guard, he was one of the men who lined the walls during The Deat