500 Words
I won’t. I can’t. Not tonight, of all nights. I need to fight this. If I fall asleep, I will not wake to see sunlight. At least if I don’t, I have some chance of survival. Under here I feel alone. Everyone else has passed. In a matter of moments, the life that I knew is no longer the life that I now had to live. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have any resources, food or water. It’s just me. I need to find some supplies but if I leave I probably won’t return. And if I stay I will starve. Some choice I have. Choosing how I will die.
I’ve been here for hours now. My hunger is taking over. I have to leave. It will only take a minute. But that’s what Mother said, and look what happened. I wish she could be here. She would know what to do. So would Father, and Charlie. But their all gone. And it’s all my fault. That’s it. I can’t sit here anymore feeling sorry for myself. I’m going out.
I don’t have to move to open the door. The shelter isn’t much bigger than the lavatory at the bottom of the garden, so it’s easy enough to reach the door while sitting on the overturned boxes. As I touch the handle, a moment of doubt runs through me like a shiver. But I have to do this.
I reluctantly push open the door, to find an unfamiliar world outside. CRASH! Everything has gone. There’s rubble everywhere. This is it. Run, I tell myself. Maybe I should listen. What have I got to lose? So I run. I run down the garden path to the back door. BOOM! There’s another one. Their getting closer.
I sprint to the kitchen, grab the largest carrier bag I can find and raid the cupboards. I rapidly tip everything I can find into it. BANG! I’ve got to get away now. Frantically grabbing water bottles, I make a dash down the hall and out the back door.
Another one just landed. The sounds are deafening, sirens, screaming, crying. I scramble back down the garden path, though I seem to be tripping over my own shadow. The tree roots are like bony fingers, grabbing at me all the way. It seemed like the path had turned into a never-ending road to death. I start to lose hope. I feel faint. But then I glimpse the shelter.
I trip and stumble all the way, but at least I make it. Though in the morning I will have to leave again. Panting now, I can’t imagine doing that all over again. Almost instantly I dug into the bag, barely looking at what I was eating. I downed the water, but told myself that it would be sensible to save some for the long night ahead. Why did this all have to happen? What have I done to deserve this war?
I’ve been here for hours now. My hunger is taking over. I have to leave. It will only take a minute. But that’s what Mother said, and look what happened. I wish she could be here. She would know what to do. So would Father, and Charlie. But their all gone. And it’s all my fault. That’s it. I can’t sit here anymore feeling sorry for myself. I’m going out.
I don’t have to move to open the door. The shelter isn’t much bigger than the lavatory at the bottom of the garden, so it’s easy enough to reach the door while sitting on the overturned boxes. As I touch the handle, a moment of doubt runs through me like a shiver. But I have to do this.
I reluctantly push open the door, to find an unfamiliar world outside. CRASH! Everything has gone. There’s rubble everywhere. This is it. Run, I tell myself. Maybe I should listen. What have I got to lose? So I run. I run down the garden path to the back door. BOOM! There’s another one. Their getting closer.
I sprint to the kitchen, grab the largest carrier bag I can find and raid the cupboards. I rapidly tip everything I can find into it. BANG! I’ve got to get away now. Frantically grabbing water bottles, I make a dash down the hall and out the back door.
Another one just landed. The sounds are deafening, sirens, screaming, crying. I scramble back down the garden path, though I seem to be tripping over my own shadow. The tree roots are like bony fingers, grabbing at me all the way. It seemed like the path had turned into a never-ending road to death. I start to lose hope. I feel faint. But then I glimpse the shelter.
I trip and stumble all the way, but at least I make it. Though in the morning I will have to leave again. Panting now, I can’t imagine doing that all over again. Almost instantly I dug into the bag, barely looking at what I was eating. I downed the water, but told myself that it would be sensible to save some for the long night ahead. Why did this all have to happen? What have I done to deserve this war?