the escape

sound of machine gunfire from the outside, from the audio visual systems in the studio or monitoring room.
the command console is getting badly damaged, like two concrete table slabs colliding head on, surfaces tearing up in the chaos of hot bullets.
a beer bellied police officer in a white polo tee is turning off the feeds one by one, against protocol, making sure evidence of the event isn’t recorded. I understand the cops have turned on each other, a termination spree, a slaying of witnesses.
I’m peering into a woman’s face, head clamped in a rusty metal head harness. a voice is commanding her to breathe in the wisp of smoke. she does so and the metal pieces move to the side, off her face. She has no body.
there are two other heads, all in close up. I see a man’s face with blood on his temple and corner left lip. he says, “it’s a miracle.” I see the beheading of a young girl by a broadsword. i neither see her face nor body. I can barely remember the second  face.
the heads – open wound sealed, windpipe covered, veins tied off- are being smuggled out of the castle by men the size of a finger. we are already at the drawbridge. I do not  recall hearing or expect encountering gun fire. there is a brooding landscape waiting, a midnight sun half-hiding behind clouds of darkness.
i am in a house, abandoned, double storied, with the presence of a woman known as mother, lingering among the dust in the atmosphere. i do not sense a history of family here. one can only assume it’s a safe house for the disembodied and i’m here to secure the location.

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