Alive

 

Alive

 

I’m lying on my back on my bed, my feet hanging off the end, as I stare up at the dull grey ceiling of my small, dimly lit nuclear bunker. I remember better times, when we could have freedom, happiness, practically anything we wanted… But one thing has not and will never change is that, even in this messed up world, people can still dream and become lost in their blissful memories of the past.

I remember one day, a couple of years back, when I was enjoying a pleasant summer afternoon in the park with my family. My beautiful wife is laughing as she pushes our son, Eli, on a swing as he squeals with delight, chanting “Higher! Higher!” As I was sitting on a nearby bench, smiling contently at the two of them. I stood and walked over to the two of them; “Higher, you say?” I grin at Eli as he nods excitedly in response. “Powering up for ultimate swing push…” I say, as I steady my legs, “Three… Two… One!” I push him with all of my strength and he shrieks as he is rocketed up, along with the swing, and then comes sailing back. Eli turns to me, his blue eyes bright with enthusiasm, and beams. “Again!” he shouts.

I swing my legs off the side of my bed and stumble past the empty bunk bed to the metal table set up in a corner. I grab a piece of paper and pencil, then sit at the table. I take a deep breath and begin writing…

 

Dear Reader,

            Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Brian Lorrent and I am a retired soldier. My wife’s name was Leona and my six year old son’s name was Eli. The night of the attack, my wife and son were driving home from a venture into town. I remember it vividly, as if it had happened mere hours ago… I was sitting on the couch, watching the television. I felt a tremor through the ground, heard a small rumble, and saw a bright flash of light from the direction of the nearby city. Fearing the worst, I rushed to the telephone and dialed my wife’s number. She picked up after the first ring:

            “Brian?!”

            “What’s going on?”

            I could hear loud background noise behind my wife’s panicked voice, “An attack has started. Get into the shelter!”

            “Is Eli with you?”

            “Yes. Yes, he’s with me. We’re in the car, driving back now.”

            “Where are you?”

            “On the bridge, stuck in traffic.” The sound of her pressing the horn echoed through the phone, “Listen, Brian, get into the shelter. Eli and I will be there as soon as we can.”

            “Hurry. I love you.”

            “I lo�" BEEP BEEP BEEP” and the line was disconnected. The incessant beeping in my ear chilled me to the bone.

Taking the phone with me, I rushed into the shelter. I closed the heavy door behind me, cutting myself off from the world. Since that night, I have not heard from my wife or son.

I have lost count of how many days have passed in my solitude, but the food and water supply is at its end and I am running out of options. Today, I will take my first step out of the shelter since the attack.

Brian Lorrent              

 

            After signing the letter, I fold it neatly and slip it into an envelope. Placing it in the center of the table, I push in the chair and walk towards the door. I grasp the handle and close my eyes, waiting… Waiting for this whole nightmare to be over with so I can wake up by my wife’s side, my son still sleeping soundly in the adjacent room, waiting eagerly for when he can finally become a first grader next week.

            Shoving those thoughts deeper in my mind, I push down the handle and open the door. It slowly swings out, revealing the horror lying in wait outside of my bunker. What had once been a grand city had been reduced to rubble and ash. Skeletons of skyscrapers and business buildings stand, crumbling, barely staying upright. Empty, charred cars littered the street, abandoned by their drivers in their panic. The nearby bridge had collapsed, and dozens of waterlogged cars were floating in the water below.

            I stumble back into the bunker and grab my family’s American flag. I exit the shelter and walk up to the flagpole in the yard. I attach the flag to the line and slowly begin raising it.

I step back and, through tear blurred vision, I look at the American flag flying gently at half-mast, with the tragic destruction and death of the city and those who lived there behind it.

Author's Note

Hello. :) Hope you like my short story, Alive. Let me know if you did!