Gaudy spires tore at the sky, tore at creation until the air splintered. They drained the colour from the sky till it was little more than an ashen pall. The buildings, monuments to man’s ingenuity offend the sky. They offended Saul as he ran. He gazed upon the cosmos as the rain hammered down. The rain flayed him as punishment for his crimes. Saul knew he wasn’t the only victim. The rain punished all who were caught.
Saul ran faster. For hours he’d been moving, unsure of the destination but aware of the journey. He heard the wail of sirens, the relentless panting of hounds. He’d given up on whether they were real or imaginary. Saul had to keep running, never settling down for too long in case they caught up. He stopped beneath an overpass, trying to recover his breath. He ran a hand through his tawny hair in a vain attempt to wipe away the rain. He felt a chill run down the back of his neck and turned around. No one was there. Only the weeping sky and the black spires leering from above.