The Square-Shaped Tear
By Talim Arab
Copyright 2011 Talim Arab
51.3029º North, 0.729º West: London. Near Future.
Escape like atoms.
A scream, shrill note that smashes the glass; the start of precision chaos as chemicals combust.
‘Fuck the files,’ I plea. We’ve done it. No more risks. We’ve about fifteen minutes left. Now, the sirens sound so we both have to shout.
‘Hold on,’ and Alex bolts to another office.
‘What the hell...?’ My scream muffles from coughing but Alex reappears, grabs my sleeve and we run for it.