Flee The Coming Dark
an excerpt

The ending was abrupt and rude and wrong. The rebel lay on the floor, breathing his dying breaths in the arms of the Council Member’s daughter. The Council President was dead, the Council Member was injured, and the Council President’s idiot son held the ancient semi automatic rifle that had injured at least one of them. Outside the Chamber walls, rebels and Laborers alike battled Guards and steadily gained the higher ground, so to speak. It was a victory for certain now, as the sun rose and the Guards died or surrendered to the superior force of the rebel battalions.
The High Council and its oppressive ways would be overthrown for sure. A new government, led by the people, would be put into its place. Every trace of the High Council, of the dreaded Celebration Village, and of the oppressive distinction between Council class and Laborers would be eradicated. And it was all thanks to the dying rebel and the Council Member’s daughter.
As the sun rose, touching the burning buildings of the Celebration Village with fiery orange light of its own, and as the rebel forces cried victory, the dying rebel’s body went limp in the desperately tight embrace of the Council Member’s daughter.