Chapter Nine

15 years later...

I let out a sigh, my eyes looking up from the stirring novel, as I looked around the grand dining room. The sheer amount of chairs left empty was a lonely sight, nobody but me occupied any space in the room, or even in the bunker. It had been fifteen years since I had been trapped in this bunker. For fifteen years I have not seen or talked to another human. While I was lonely, it was peaceful in a way that I had never experienced before. Yes, there was nobody to take to, but that also meant nobody was here to strike you down with their cruel words. Obviously, I missed people, most notably my family, but to be alone was not as much of a punishment as one might think. For the first time in my life, I had no one telling me what to do. I got to experience true freedom for the first time, I was free of society's obscene rules, and my parent's watchful eye.

However, one thing never failed to penetrate my thoughts at any given moment: the crash. The mystery of the event had wholeheartedly captured my interest in a way that few had ever come close to. I knew that it was the sole reason why I was yet to be snatched from peaceful contentment, but I didn't know whether I was thankful or livid. In one way, it had given me a chance to better myself, mentally speaking, of course, I wasn't crazy enough to become a fitness junkie quite yet. But, a part of me always wondered what I was missing out on. I knew I wasn't ready enough for marriage and shit, but could I be finally achieving my dreams? Would I be exploring the pyramids in Giza, or swimming in the clear blue waters of Maldives?

Right now, my future was my present; there wasn't something new to work towards. There wasn't a new goal to achieve, it was simply just living. Reading book after book from the magnificent collection present, eating, drinking, sleeping, repeat. And most importantly, breathing; it's harder than you think.

Being alone for so long was freeing, but it took some time to get used to. I remember those times, the shaking, the crying, and most importantly the helplessness. In one way, it was like getting rid of an addiction, the addiction of community; the addiction of society. Hell at one point, I even missed Mr. Harrison. I bet you everything I have, that the old geezer didn't even notice that I wasn't here. It was ironic in a way, how much I missed society, even though I know that not even a single person would have reciprocated the gesture. Except, maybe my parents. I did wonder if they missed me, I certainly did. I missed the hugs, the moments filled with blissful happiness. The amount of regret coursing through me, when I think about not picking up that phone call from my mom in the hotel, is uncomparable.

But if they really missed me, wouldn't they have looked for me? It was a punch to my gut when I realized that perhaps nobody had even noticed that I was gone. Nobody felt any significant attachment to me. I was just there. An entity using valuable space in the world we call Earth.

On the bright side, I allowed myself to sign the wall of survivors. Another loopy signature done in a vibrant purple was added to the wall, blending in seamlessly with every other previous occupant's trademark. I had read all their names, placing personas behind the characters to retrieve some of my lost sanity. There was Lewis, a real go-getter, who strived for the best result every moment. His handwriting wasn't slanted, instead, it was straight and sharp. In contrast, Taylor was a dreamer, her wildest dreams swiftly making wonderlands filled with idealistic characters. I knew that feeling all too well.

Indeed, during this hiatus from well real life, I had blended seamlessly into the most magical world possible: a book. It had started with Little Women, then led to Pride and Prejudice, the Scarlette Letter continuing my list. I attacked the shelves with an unseen ferocity, craving the feeling of worn-down covers in my hands as I absorbed the information written. It had become a necessity for me. I wonder if I would have been able to survive the fifteen years without the grand, majestic library present in the bunker. I doubt it.

Like clockwork, I got up from the dining table, my face buried in the book, not wishing to see the ghosts of my past life occupying the empty chairs again. I do the same thing every day. At the exact same time. I sleep in the same bed, I go to the same rooms, I even eat the same damn meals. Somehow even after fifteen years, the taste of boxed mac and cheese pleases me to an unknown extent. I suppose it just brings back pleasant memories.

Perhaps if I wasn't so engrossed in the historical tale of to kill a mockingbird, I would have noticed the sound. The sound of birds chirping, water flowing, and a low growl. Or maybe the smell. The smell of sweet pine highlighting the season of autumn. But, I would have for sure noticed my stomach flipping, like it was in the hands of a professional cook. I would have noticed my gut warning me that danger was approaching, my internal alarm center blaring, aching to be noticed. But alas, it was ignored, snoozed until it stopped. It was too late for it to save me from the horrible truth.

This marked the end of my blissful ignorance.