Shattered

Spot

        The basement was a horrible place to be trapped in for three days. We had to sleep on the floor, which was a sheet of cold, broken tiles. It also smelled like mold, which probably didn't help my lungs. And Grandpa, helpful as usual, just slept most of the time.

        The food we had to eat was stored in a small, ancient fridge in the corner of the basement. This "food" mostly consisted of tuna and expired Jell-O that was practically fruit juice. The occasional granola bar or cheese stick was a blessing.

        The basement was also almost pitch-black because all of the lighting burnt out decades ago. The only source of light was a small peephole in the door to the outside, which was facing the back of the house. The most tormenting thing was the fact that our normal house was a few stairs above us. We could easily go up there and eat real food and be able to see our food. But even a small food run could be fatal. The gunshots never stopped, and they weren't constant, creating a puzzle. When you think the coast is clear, you could (in theory) run up to the nearby pantry, but the gunshots might resume at any time and kill you. Because all of the house's windows were already shot out, a bullet could fly right through the house and kill you.

        It was also bone-chilling to hear gunshots a few houses down, and then hear a blood-curdling shriek that stays with you forever. Car alarms also went off frequently, even though they were more annoying than scary.

        When I got so bored I wanted to scream, I stood up and walked over to the outside door. I bent down and looked through the small peephole. I saw (mostly) the usual sights. At the back of our house, there was a rolling, downward slope and at the bottom, there was a patch of woods. Then, at the other end of the woods, there was another rolling, upward slope leading to another row of houses. I could barely see the houses through the trees and the thick night. One of the houses was on fire, and another actually collapsed in on itself. I suspected bombs, but I hadn't heard anything. Besides, who knew what these armed forces used.

        Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Yes, these are the armed forces from the news. I couldn't believe that they got here so fast, but I have proof. A few days ago, when the gunshots stopped for about two hours, I had the chance to go upstairs and peer out of a window. I saw four men hiding behind an overturned car in the middle of the road, reloading their guns. Their uniforms brandished the official country Armed Forces logo.

        A faint whimper shocked me out of my thoughts. I looked out of the peephole again. Nothing. Whimper. I heard it again. Knowing the stupidity of my actions, I unlocked the door and slowly opened it. There, sitting on the doorstep, lay a small Jack Russell Terrier. When our eyes met, he seemed to be filled with equal amounts of joy and fear. Apparently, the joy overrode the fear, because he sprinted his furry little body under my legs and into the basement.