Chapter X: The Dream

There was blood—just blood everywhere. In the haze of confusion, a boy sat huddled beneath a desk, trembling as the police moved in. Chaos surrounded him, with bodies of students sprawled across the classroom floor, each one a stark reminder of the horror that had unfolded. The boy's heart raced as fear gripped him, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the chilling silence that followed the storm.

"Kid, stand up. Are you okay?" a policeman's voice broke through the chaos, stuttering with palpable fear.

The boy lifted his head slowly, revealing a face smeared with blood and hollow eyes glistening with tears. He felt like he had stepped out of a nightmare, confusion washing over him as he stared at the devastation around him.

As if in a blink, he found himself at the police station. The weight of the tragedy hung heavy in the air, filling every corner with an unsettling dread. The news of the incident had spread like wildfire, igniting the media into a frenzy. Cameras flashed, and reporters clamored for the latest updates, their voices a cacophony of disbelief and outrage.

"This boy, Ali, has been bullied for three years," one reporter exclaimed, her voice rising above the others. "He snapped today, and this is the result."

In the midst of the chaos, a video of the incident began trending on social media, captivating audiences across Pakistan. People filled the bustling streets of Lahore, Karachi, and Islamabad, momentarily pausing their daily routines—shopping, riding crowded trains, or chatting in cafes—to watch the shocking footage unfold.

The video played on mobile screens, snippets of the chaos flashing before their eyes. Friends pointed at their screens, engaged in heated discussions, disbelief etched on their faces.

Around the video, a scrolling comment section emerged, capturing the public's divided opinions as if it were a living entity:

Comment Section:

"This kid was bullied for too long!"

"Violence isn't the solution, though!"

"He deserves support, not punishment."

"What kind of monster does this?"

"He's a threat to society!"

"Let's help him, not vilify him."

The comments flowed endlessly, a digital river of outrage and empathy, as the video gained traction. Young men crowded around their phones in tea stalls, while women gathered in living rooms, discussing the implications of what they had witnessed.

Then, with a sudden jolt, the scene shifted. Ali found himself in a dimly lit jail cell, staring blankly at the ceiling. The walls were cold and unyielding, his mind replaying the events over and over, a loop of confusion and pain. Each sound echoed in his head—the laughter of his bullies, the taunts, the shoves.

A figure entered the cell, the warden, attempting to reach out. "You want to talk about it, kid?" he asked gently, but Ali remained silent, lost in thought.

The warden sighed and exited, locking the door behind him.

Moments later, a group of inmates entered the common area of the jail, their eyes darting towards Ali. They were hardened men, seasoned by their own experiences. They approached him, their intentions clear.

"Look at this kid," one of them sneered. "Thinks he's tough just because he's got a little blood on his hands."

In a sudden burst of adrenaline, Ali's fist shot out, striking the inmate's jaw with a force that echoed in the room. The impact cracked the wall behind the man, and a stunned silence enveloped the space, the other inmates retreating slightly in surprise.

Ali stood there, breathing heavily, a flicker of defiance igniting within him. The room felt charged, his heart racing with a mix of fear and empowerment. He had had enough of the bullying, of the silence.

But just as he began to feel a surge of control, everything around him began to fade. The room dissolved into a swirling mist, and the sounds of the inmates grew distant, replaced by an eerie stillness.

Suddenly, Ali jolted awake in his bed, his heart racing. The dream lingered in his mind, the images of blood and chaos swirling in his thoughts. He took a deep breath, grounding himself in reality, thankful that it was just a nightmare.