When it seemed that everyone was asleep, Sandra sighed. As silence loomed in the air, she left the kitchen, rounded the corner, and entered the main
room, facing her uncle's work bench.
His work bench was full of strange, random things, and despite the size of the humongous counter top, only a very small portion of its surface was
cleared and vacant. It was the spot, as she remembered, where Dorian would stand and work on whatever his current project might have been.
The empty space on the counter was bordered by a small radio, a coffee cup which he'd filled only a day ago, and an old tape player.
Sandra stared into the half-full coffee mug, then wrapped her fingers around its handle, lifting the cup to her nose. It was the bitter, harsh scent
of pure black coffee enfused with the smell of her uncle's aftershave...
She never understood why he liked black coffee. Coffee was Sandra's favorite beverage, mainly because of its stimulating effects, but she always
loved her coffee creamed, sugared and cold. Dorian was always the opposite; he drank straight, hot, black coffee... Sandra couldn't wrap her mind
around it... black coffee was disgusting...
Still, she pressed the cup to her lips, allowing the cool, dark liquid to flow into her mouth. The taste was horrible, but nevertheless, she drank
the remaining contents of the cup, then set it back onto the counter softly so not to wake up the others.
The bleak, bitter aftertaste was still coating the inside of her mouth, but for some reason, she didn't much care.
Sandra leaned on the table, her arms crossed, her eyes scanning over the counter top. There was a dismantled rifle lying just to the left, the stock
of the gun sitting propped against the wall. Apart from it was a toolbox, covered in posters and papers that were completely unorganized, and many
small nuts and bolts lying scattered around it. On the wall, overlooking the counter of junk, were the countless posters Dorian had plastered all over
the bunker. Some of them were simple posters of paintings, but most of them were very revolutionary and anti-government in nature. The most noticeable
poster was the one just across from Sandra, the one Dorian would often stand in front of when working on a project.
The old, wrinkled poster of the man with the shovel, the poster Sandra was most used to seeing. When Dorian would drag her into the bunker, he'd
stand here, working on something new, like a radiation detector, or a modified firearm... he would attempt to explain how the device worked, and how
she could use it, but she'd drift away, her mind wandering, as she was usually completely uninterested. And, during these little meetings, they'd
stand under this ancient old poster, and the whole time, the man would be pointing to both of them as an explosion was constantly erupting behind him,
grasping his shovel, always asking the same question... Where will you be when the holocaust comes?
"Right here." Sandra whispered aloud, staring into the poster.
When she stood upright, her elbow came in contact with a small, plastic rectangular device, knocking it to the ground. It made a loud, echoing noise,
which made Sandra swear under her breath, then glance at the others, who thankfully, hadn't woken up.
Sandra bent down and picked up the item, examining it. It was a tape... a small cassette tape, one she'd never seen before. Upon first glance, the
tape looked blank... then, she flipped it over.
On the front side of the cassette was a small strip of white duct tape, which had been written upon with a black marker. It read; Listen To
Sandra stared at it for almost a full minute.
Then, she looked at the counter, spotting the tape player.
An anxious sensation began to brew inside her, and she placed the cassette tape into the tape player. She gulped, hoping the noise wouldn't wake
anyone, and pressed the 'play' button.
The machine made a hissing staticy noise, and Sandra jumped.
Then, the sounds leveled out, and Sandra was able to hear something clanking around in the background of the recorded message.
A familiar voice spoke from the machine in a fuzzy, poorly recorded way. "You're probably right, kiddo. You probably always have
been. Its ridiculously unlikely that any major life-threatening event would happen on a massive scale, especially in our life time. But you...
kiddo... I want you to live a better life than everyone else your age.
Sandra... there was a time when everyone talked to each other, instead of chatting on the internet... and when video games actually required
controllers and a television, instead of that virtual reality thingy... there was a time when everyone played outside, and grew their own food... when
everyone was self-sufficient to some degree, when people didn't have to rely on governments and laws and importation just to survive.
I know living a life full of work doesn't sound all that glamorous... trust me, I know. But living off your own sweat gives you a kind of purpose...
some kind of... of reason, you know? It... its the way people were meant to live. Its important to me to pass down everything I know to you... so you
can pass it down too. How to fend for yourself, and protect yourself, and hell... if anything ever DOES happen, it'll never be something we can't
handle. I know its a lot to take in, and I'm sorry... but... YOU are my first priority, Sandra. I never had kids... I never COULD have kids. As far as
I'm concerned.. you're mine.
And I hope one day, you see that I never meant to force anything on you that you didn't want. I only wanted you to know how to take care of yourself,
because... well, hell... I'll just say it. I'm not gonna be around forever.
It hurts me that you don't seem to care about yourself... and I know you're not used to anyone looking after you. After the stunt my brother pulled,
I can't blame you. But I just want you to know, you ARE cared for, weather you like it or not.
And... Sandra... listen to me. This is very important. If... if anything ever DOES happen, and if anything ever happens to me in the process... do
not--I repeat, do NOT--leave the bunker, under any circumstances. It'll be hard to stay locked up by yourself for such a long time, but stay in the
bunker until someone comes for you. It might take a long time, but I have a network of likeminded individuals who have instructions to come rescue you
in the event that anything happens, and if something has happened to me.
I love you, kiddo."
The voice vanished, and Sandra punched the 'stop' button.
Her eyes then began to focus on the huge, golden watch on her wrist.
Sure, she could wait around in the bunker until some strangers would come to help her out, for God knows how long... sure, she could survive this
horrible catastrophe... but that wasn't enough. Not only had she constantly argued with, bashed, and rejected her uncle... but now, she couldn't even
apologize. Her uncle had vanished, and he, like the rest of the residents in Las Nueva Era, was probably dead. Sandra would never get to apologize for
being an utterly horrible person to him, would never get to hug him, would never get to let him know that he, too, was cared for...
It was hours before she was able to drift into a quiet, disturbed sleep.
edit on Xx65420230AM62 by XxNightAngelusxX because: (no reason given)