‘The Bunker Life’ by James Finn Hardy, Soham Village College

Thud…Thud…Thud. I wake up to the sound of walking outside my door. Too heavy to be my dog. Too slow to be a wild animal. And the gas getting worse meaning anybody will get supplies where they can. meaning it can only be one thing. Scavengers. Usually in big groups, usually deadly when interfered with.

I get out of bed an tighten my worn gas mask in case they left the door open allowing the toxic fumes to intrude the bunker. And so, I hide, with no way to defend myself, I hide. Very quickly but silently because one move can be lethal, one move could end it all. So, I hide under my creaky but reliable bed and drape my torn blanket over the side to cover the bottom. And I wait, silently.

Scared as hell.

And I hear nothing except the clanking of tin cans and the creaking of the door then I breath for the first time. Unsure if the coast is clear, unsure whether they have left, unsure if I am alive.

I then crawl out, still cautious, still praying. But I think it is all clear and my dog comes out from the hallway unharmed showing it is all clear. And then I take off my mask taking a breath of fresh air. But its not fresh air and the bunker door is wide open.