What a fool I was.
I had chosen this life, Of my own free will I had made the choice.
Uninfluenced by the opinions or guidance of others, I had taken the steps and made the necessary preparations and adjustments to achieve my present predicament.
Boredom. That was my downfall. The boredom of the day to day existence inside the bunker.
The boredom of the same faces, the same conversations and complaints, the same routines, neverending, on and on.
The grass is always greener... always...
The grass we can see in our mind's eye.
The grass I could now see through the shattered window didn't look very green.
After six days I had discarded the stolen rifle, dead weight once the ammo was gone.
The pilfered food had lasted a few days longer, even with careful rationing it still ran out much sooner than I expected.
I thought there would be places to forage. In my imagination the world outside the bunker was littered with tins of food in overlooked cupboards and storerooms.
It was a shame that I couldn't fill my belly with my imaginings, instead of the infrequent trickle of rat meat and insects that were keeping me alive.
I sat with my head tilted back, resting against the filthy, torn wallpaper. My hands clasped around my shins, drawing my knees close to to my chest, shivering, cold and damp.
I closed my eyes and began to drift off.
The grass I saw in my dream grew long and lush, and so very, very green.
I waded through the waist-high stalks, trailing my outstretched palms along the tops of the fronds, pushing my way to a clearing in which stood a trestle table laden with food. Almost faint with hunger I reached and gently picked a roasted drumstick from a plate, watching in horror as it began to liquefy and drip, turn to slime, and cascade maggots, rotting before my very eyes.
All around me the grass was turning brown, withering and crumbling to dust, scattering in the breeze.
I jolted awake... Darkness had come while I slept, and I could hear the howls in the distance as other things came awake, ready to start their day, hungry.
I huddled down into the corner, made myself as small and quiet as possible, with any luck I would be overlooked again.
In the morning I would start my return journey, hopefully to find the rifle still where I left it, I don't think they would let me back in without it.
The grass inside the bunker looked a whole lot greener now than it used to.
©2024
Stephen. J. Green.
